THE QUARTER OF REMEMBRANCE

The following is from Mike Cope's blog, "PreacherMike" at http://www.preachermike.com/

It touched my heart, and I hope it touches yours - and may you find a "Quarter" in your Christmas Stocking!

The Quarter of Remembrance

by Mike Cope (reprinted)

I actually got to meet Dr. Channing Barrett, though I don’t remember the meeting because I was too young. But that doesn’t change my picture of him as a young man walking a marathon of miles every weekend. In my mind, I see him returning home to Blissfield, Michigan around the turn of the century.

Channing Barrett was one of eight boys and was the first ever in the Barrett family to go to college. From his medical school, he walked twenty-five miles home each weekend, always returning a couple days later with clean clothes, a food packet, and a dollar.

Dr. Barrett became one of the first ob-gyns in Chicago, practicing at Cook County Hospital. He was known widely both for his innovative surgical techniques and for his ambidextrous skills that allowed him to change hands during long procedures.

There was no patient whom he wouldn’t accept. He delivered many “tenement babies” for fifty cents and many babies for the wives of Mafia dons for a good bit more!

With a growing, respected medical practice, a wonderful wife, and three children, this young physician seemed to be living the idyllic life. He enjoyed riding horses and lifting weights, and was an early member of the Polar Bear Society–that “unique” group that takes to the chilly waters of Lake Michigan in January each year to prove–well, who knows what they’re trying to prove?

And then World War I interrupted this Norman Rockwell life. Dr. Barrett left Chicago to run a field hospital in France, followed shortly by his 17-year-old son, who fought in the trenches.

As long as he could, Barrett sent money back to his wife and daughters. But by the last year of the war, his funds were nearly exhausted. He had no more to mail home. Mrs. Barrett sold most of what they owned, trying desperately to keep her daughters fed and clothed without having to lose their house.

By the time Christmas rolled around in 1918, there were no presents to place under the tree. They were lucky to have a place to live.

But Mrs. Barrett had managed, despite all the financial scrimping, to save two quarters. So on Christmas morning, when the girls emptied their stockings, under the paper dolls their mother had cut out for them and under a couple pieces of candy, they each found a coin.

Previous Christmas mornings had been more lavish, filled with frilly dresses and expensive toys. And there would be more such mornings in the future. But this was the Christmas the family would always remember.

In the future, even during the years of plenty, when the girls emptied their stockings, they always found–under the apples, oranges, nuts, and candy–a quarter.

It was a reminder–a reminder that some years are good while others aren’t too good. Some years deliver new babies, promotions, raises, and great promises. Other years offer sickness, failure, death, and deep disappointment.

The quarter reminded them about both possibilities. It warned them not to write off all the pain of the past as if it didn’t exist. It taught them that the sorrows and wounds of their lives had shaped their characters as much as their joys and accomplishments.

Anyone who takes seriously the Christmas stories of scripture knows that the first Christmas had more than angels, shepherds, wise men, and a mother nursing her baby. There was also the anguish of childbirth. There were the pungent, impolite odors of an animal pen. There was an old man who held the baby and told his mother, “A sword will pierce your own soul too.” There were the voices of many mothers screaming for their baby boys being slaughtered by a demented ruler named Herod. There was a breathless escape to Egypt.

The entrance of God’s Son into the world meant peace–but it didn’t assure that people would get along. It meant great joy–but it didn’t mean we’d always be happy. And it meant unconditional love–though it never implied that everyone would act lovingly.

And so one family, year after year, continued dropping a quarter of remembrance into the bottom of each child’s stocking.

At least one of Channing Barrett’s children picked up that tradition. Every year through the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s, her five children, Dr. Barrett’s grandchildren, pulled their stockings off the chimney on Christmas morning to find quarters buried under fruit, nuts, and candy.

And at least one of those five passed it on to her four children. And at least one of those four is passing it on to his children.

The quarter has mysteriously tied this family together–binding even generations who never met. Together they have remembered that bad year in 1918 and other bad years since.- One year brought the safe birth of a new nephew; another brought the self-inflicted death of a relative who couldn’t keep fighting the demons of his life;- One year brought the thrilling news from the gynecologist that a baby was on the way; another brought the news from the pediatrician that the baby wasn’t developing right;- Some years brought joy; others brought deep, deep pain.

The quarter is a remembrance that the meaning of Christmas is deeper than our triumphs and sorrows. It is a joy that can’t fully be expressed, a peace that passes understanding.

For years my children have followed this tradition started by their Great, Great Grandmother Barrett. Together, we’ve experienced the love of God, woven through the fabric of good days and dark days.

Eleven Christmases ago [fourteen Christmases now] the quarter represented a burden that was crushing our hearts. Not long before Christmas of 1994 our ten-year-old daughter, Megan, took her last breath in the pediatric ICU at Hendrick. Her death was surely the darkest moment in our lives. We felt very connected to Matthew’s Christmas story, the one that tells of “Rachel weeping for her children” (Matthew 2:17).

And then five Christmases later, our family returned to that grief, for in June of 1999 my brother’s son, Jantsen BARRETT Cope, died suddenly and unexpectedly after lifting weights with his high school football team. We barely survived as we gathered in my parents’ living room that Christmas without my nephew’s big, joyful laughs. Fifteen is too young to die. Our quarters were quarters of grief.

But by God’s grace, we have survived. We’re still together, we still love, we still hope, we still believe in that one who was born in Bethlehem.

This Christmas there is still that gaping hole of absence. And yet our quarters will also represent joy. For when people gave money as a memorial to Jantsen, my brother and sister-in-law prayed about a place to let that money be used in the name of Christ. Through a ministry of their church, they traveled to Vietnam to visit an orphanage. They only went intending to give money. But there in a foreign country, across an ocean, on soil where American and Vietnamese soldiers had died, my brother looked into the eyes of a little guy whose name was Vihn, but is now Van – Van Cope. A year later in the same place they looked into the eyes of a sweet Vietnamese girl who is now Tatum Cope.

As Randall Frame has written, “Christmas does not deny sorrow its place in the world. But the message of Christmas is that joy is bigger than despair, that peace will outlast turmoil, that love has crushed all the evil, hatred, and pain the world at its worst can muster.”

That’s why this Christmas Eve, late in the evening, my wife and I will slip a quarter into the bottom of the stockings of our boys and our daughter-in-law.

The quarter will always remind them of a story that is truer than life: that God so loved the world he gave his only begotten Son. There in that simple manger in Bethlehem, “the hopes and fears of all the years” found their fulfillment. God had broken into a world of great darkness with the light of his Son.

And yet while the Kingdom of God came in Jesus Christ, we haven’t yet experienced it fully. That’s why the church has continued to pray for 2000 years, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” In the meantime, in the words of scripture, we groan, we long, we wait, we hope.

We live in the belief that our simple acts of kindness and giving are not without meaning because Christ has come. And we live in hope that one day the Lord Jesus will come again and all tears will be wiped from our eyes.

That’s the story of Christmas. I know it’s true. I’d bet you a quarter!

THAT BABY

The following is from Jim McGuiggin's blog site at http://www.jimmcguiggan.com.

THAT baby means...

The foundational truths of the Christian faith are too rich for us to fully unpack because they are part of the life of God and as surely as we can’t grasp everything about the life of a single human we can’t know or appreciate the life of God. But there are events in our own lives that disclose truths about us that are and will always be a part of who we are; so it is with God in relation to humans. The Incarnation of God in and as Jesus Christ is one of those massive truths.
The presence of that child says things about God as he relates to his human family but it also says things about the family he chooses to maintain his commitment to.

When God thought of the human family his first thought of it was in light of Jesus Christ—Colossians 1:15-16 and Romans 8:29.

• The presence of that child in the world says that when God made us and was pleased with his work he wasn’t like a toy-maker who said to himself, “I’d like to have one of those.” He said, “I would like to be one of them.” The Incarnation means that.
• The presence of that child says that the human family is in dire need of saving. [In light of that we should be sceptical about the grandiose views of how well we’re doing.]
• The presence of that child says that to God the human family is worth saving. [In light of that, though we must deal with abusive, oppressive, threatening and unrighteous behaviour because we think all humans are worth saving—victims and not just the victimizers.]
• The presence of that child says that the material creation (including the human body) is not to be despised—“matter” matters to God and there’s little point in our trying to be more “spiritual” than God.
• The presence of that child says that God has not reneged on his creation purposes which were to culminate in Jesus and all those who are embraced in his saving work. The experience of that Jesus from Bethlehem to Golgotha and beyond is the ultimate expression of God’s continued faithfulness in the face of our human faithlessness.
• The presence of that child says that the unaided human family is incapable of saving itself and/or of coming up with the structures that can set the world right. [Do we think this generation is the first or would be the last to discover our pervasive corruption and incompetence? We can’t take care of our sins and because we can’t we can never build a world in which righteousness, peace, adventure, prosperity and joy would be at home.] That baby’s presence in the world is God’s assurance that he has undertaken to right all wrongs! He will.

Merry CHRISTmas.

WHO WILL TAKE THE SON?

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.'

The young man held out his package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears.

He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. 'Oh, no sir,' he said, 'I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son.

The auctioneer pounded his gavel, 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'

There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'

But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting. Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'

Another voice said angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real paintings!'

But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting. Being a poor man,> it was all he could afford.

'We have $10, who will bid $20?,' came the plea.

'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the> masters,' someone shouted.

'$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?', again was heard.

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded his gavel. 'Going once, going> twice, SOLD for $10!'

A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the> auction is over,' he said.

'What about the paintings?' he heard.'I am sorry, was his reply. 'When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this moment. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the Masters' paintings.' 'The man who took the son gets everything!'

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?' Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY SON THAT WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH IN HIM SHOULD NOT PERIST, BUT HAVE ETERNAL LIFE...

THAT'S LOVE.

DECIDING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE

With the College 'Bowl Games' and the NFL 'Play-off' Games coming up and eating up a lot of our attention and emotional energy in the next few weeks (cf. Luke 8:14 for Jesus' thoughts on this!), I thought that the following Jewel from a friend on his blog at http://spiritualoasis.org/blog/ would be appropriate. - Jerry

Deciding to Make a Difference

Sports, sports and more sports. We live in a sports oriented society. The influence of sports, especially professional sports, on our thinking is incredible. Sometimes it is direct. At other times, it is subtle. It is, nevertheless, significant.
One of the subtle ways we are influenced seems to be evident in the development of an expanding “spectator’s mentality.” Increasing numbers of people are living vicariously through others, without ever actually being participants in the game, whatever it is. Many are content to sit on the sidelines, watching the months and years roll by. Think about it: How many “couch potatoes” do you know? (Or, is it un-sportsman-like conduct for me to ask that question?)
A clipping about a talented young football player who, in his coach’s eyes, didn’t seem to put his heart into the game, once crossed my desk. The coach wanted to light a fire under the lad. Looking intensely into his eyes, he asked, “Suppose it’s late in the game. We’re down by five points. We have the ball on the one yard line, and it’s fourth down. What would you do?” Without hesitation and with complete sincerity, the young man replied, “I’d move as close as I could to the end of the bench, so I’d have a better view.”
Yikes! Sometimes even the players are overtaken by the spectator’s mentality! This makes it difficult to build a team. Again, the sports arena is not the only place we find a growing number of spectators. This mindset distresses workplace supervisors. It is present virtually everywhere we look, even in the Lord’s church. Members stand on the sidelines watching, while their brothers and sisters wrestle with Kingdom assignments both big and small. But, the last place that a spectator’s mentality should exist is in the body of the redeemed. God’s involvement in our lives should compel us to be involved in the lives of others and in the body of Christ.
Involvement is a personal choice. It is greatly influenced by an individual’s attitude. God does not want us to hide our talent by blending into the crowd on the sidelines. Nor does He want us to dig a hole and bury it. This is a great incentive for involvement.
God has blessed us all with unique talents. He will hold us accountable for how we use them, too. However, understanding that we can be God’s instruments for making a positive a difference in the lives of many people should help us to see involvement on a grander scale. It is more than a duty. It is an avenue to great joy! No wonder Peter’s inspired exhortation is that “each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.” (1 Peter 4:10 NIV)
Let us all determine that we will be more than spectators in the world in which we live and in the life of the local body of Christ to which we belong!

TO MEET SUCH A PERSON

A friend sent me the following story. It touched me. Perhaps it will touch you as well.

TO MEET SUCH A PERSON

I sat, with two friends, in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town-square. The food and the company were both especially good that day. As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying, a well-worn sign that read, I will work for food.' My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways.

I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking some what halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him.. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: 'Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square.' Then with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the store front church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked; feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park I pulled in, got out and approached the town's newest visitor.

'Looking for the pastor?' I asked.
'Not really,' he replied, 'just resting.'
'Have you eaten today?'
'Oh, I ate something early this morning.'
'Would you like to have lunch with me?'
'Do you have some work I could do for you?'
'No work,' I replied. 'I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch.'
'Sure,' he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions.

'Where you headed?'
' St. Louis .'
'Where you from?'
'Oh, all over; mostly Florida ...'
'How long you been walking?'
'Fourteen years,' came the reply.

I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, ' Jesus is The Never Ending Story.'

Then Daniel 's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.

'Nothing's been the same since, ' he said, 'I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now.'
'Ever think of stopping?' I asked.
'Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads.'

I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice.

The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: 'What's it like?'
'What?'
'To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?'

'Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments.Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me.'

My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused.
He turned to me and said, 'Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.'

I felt as if we were on holy ground.
'Could you use another Bible?' I asked.

He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite. 'I've read through it 14 times,' he said.

'I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see' I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.

'Where are you headed from here?' I asked.
'Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon.'
'Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?'
'No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next.'

He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town-square where we'd met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things .

'Would you sign my autograph book?' he asked. 'I like to keep messages from folks I meet.'

I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, 'I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you; Plans to give you a future and a hope.'

'Thanks, man,' he said. 'I know we just met and we're really just strangers, but I love you.'
'I know,' I said, 'I love you, too.'
'The Lord is good!'
'Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?' I asked.
'A long time,' he replied.

And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.

He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, 'See you in the New Jerusalem.'
'I'll be there!' was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bedroll and pack of Bibles.

He stopped, turned and said, 'When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?'
'You bet,' I shouted back, 'God bless.'
'God bless.'

And that was the last I saw of him.Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them... a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them.

Then I remembered his words: 'If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?'

Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. 'See you in the New Jerusalem,' he said. Yes, Daniel , I know I will...

If this story touches your heart, pass it on....

WHAT GOD CAN DO WITH 57 CENTS

A poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins,

worth only a fraction of a penny.

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, "I tell you the truth,

this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others.

They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty,

put in everything - all she had to live on. (Mark 12:42-44)

A little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was 'too crowded.'

'I can't go to Sunday School,' she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by.

Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her, and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus.

Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements.

As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump.

Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting, which read: 'This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School.'

For two years she had saved for this offering of love.

When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion.

He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building.

But the story does not end there...

A newspaper learned of the story and published It. It was read by a wealthy realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands.

When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered to sell it to the little church for 57 cents.

Church members made large donations. Checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000--a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividends.

When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300. And be sure to visit Temple University, where thousands of students are educated.

Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time.

In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, 'Acres of Diamonds'.

This is a true story, which goes to show WHAT GOD CAN DO WITH 57 CENTS.

SCIENCE VS GOD

My wife forwarded the following to me in an email. I had seen it once before (or something very similar to it). I liked it then and I like it now. I share it with you without knowing the author - but I would like to commend him or her. This is a real jewel.

Jerry

GOD vs. Science



A science professor begins his school year with a lecture to the students, 'Let me explain the problem science has with religion.'

The atheist professor of philosophy pauses before his class and then asks one of his new students to stand. 'You're a Christian, aren't you, son?'

'Yes sir,' the student says.

'So you believe in God?' 'Absolutely.'

'Is God good?' 'Sure! God's good.'

'Is God all-powerful? Can God do anything?' 'Yes.'

'Are you good or evil?' 'The Bible says I'm evil.'

The professor grins knowingly. 'Aha! The Bible!' He considers for a moment . 'Here's one for you. Let's say there's a sick person over here and you can cure him. You can do it. Would you help him? Would you try?'

'Yes sir, I would.' 'So you're good...!'

'I wouldn't say that.' 'But why not say that? You'd help a sick and maimed person if you could. Most of us would if we could. But God doesn't.'

The student does not answer, so the professor continues. 'He doesn't, does he? My brother was a Christian who died of cancer, even though he prayed to Jesus to heal him. How is this Jesus good? Hmmm? Can you answer that one?'

The student remains silent. 'No, you can't, can you?' the professor says.

He takes a sip of water from a glass on his desk to give the student time to relax. 'Let's start again, young fella. Is God good?'

'Er...yes,' the student says. '

Is Satan good?' The student doesn't hesitate on this one. 'No.'

'Then where does Satan come from?' The student falters. 'From God' '

That's right. God made Satan, didn't he? Tell me, son. Is there evil in this world?'

'Yes, sir.' 'Evil's everywhere, isn't it? And God did make everything, correct?' 'Yes.'

'So who created evil?' The professor continued, 'If God created everything, then God created evil, since evil exists, and according to the principle that our works define who we are, then God is evil.'

Again, the student has no answer. 'Is there sickness? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness? All these terrible things, do they exist in this world?'

The student squirms on his feet. 'Yes.'

'So who created them?' The student does not answer again, so the professor repeats his question. 'Who created them?' There is still no answer. Suddenly the lecturer breaks away to pace in front of the classroom. The class is mesmerized.

'Tell me,' he continues onto another student. 'Do you believe in Jesus Christ, son?' The student's voice betrays him and cracks. 'Yes, professor, I do.'

The old man stops pacing. 'Science says you have five senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Have you ever seen Jesus?' 'No sir. I've never seen Him.'

'Then tell us if you've ever heard your Jesus?' 'No, sir, I have not.' 'Have you ever felt your Jesus, tasted your Jesus or smelt your Jesus? Have you ever had any sensory perception of Jesus Christ, or God for that matter?' 'No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't.'

'Yet you still believe in him?' 'Yes.' 'According to the rules of empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your God doesn't exist. What do you say to that, son?'

'Nothing,' the student replies. 'I only have my faith.' 'Yes, faith,' the professor repeats. 'And that is the problem science has with God. There is no evidence, only faith.'

At the back of the room another student stands quietly for a moment before asking a question of His own.

'Professor, is there such thing as heat?' 'Yes,' the professor replies. 'There's heat.'

'And is there such a thing as cold?' 'Yes, son, there's cold too.'

'No sir, there isn't.' The professor turns to face the student, obviously interested. The room suddenly becomes very quiet.

The student begins to explain. 'You can have lots of heat, even more heat, super-heat, mega-heat, unlimited heat, white heat , a little heat or no heat, but we don't have anything called 'cold'. We can hit up to 458 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can't go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold; otherwise we would be able to go colder than the lowest -458 degrees.' 'Every body or object is susceptible to study when it has or transmits energy, and heat is what makes a body or matter have or transmit energy. Absolute zero (-458 F) is the total absence of heat. You see, sir, cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat we can measure in thermal units because heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat, sir, just the absence of it.'

Silence across the room. A pen drops somewhere in the classroom, sounding like a hammer.

'What about darkness, professor. Is there such a thing as darkness?'

'Yes,' the professor replies without hesitation. 'What is night if it isn't darkness?'

'You're wrong again, sir. Darkness is not something; it is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light, but if you have no light constantly you have nothing and it's called darkness, isn't it? That's the meaning we use to define the word.' 'In reality, darkness isn't. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker, wouldn't you?'

The professor begins to smile at the student in front of him. This will be a good semester. 'So what point are you making, young man?'

'Yes, professor. My point is, your philosophical premise is flawed to start with, and so your conclusion must also be flawed.'

The professor's face cannot hide his surprise this time. 'Flawed? Can you explain how?'

'You are working on the premise of duality,' the student explains. 'You argue that there is life and then there's death; a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science can't even explain a thought.' 'It uses electricity and magnetism , but has never seen, much less fully understood either one. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life, just the absence of it.'

'Now tell me, professor. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?' 'If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, young man, yes, of course I do.'

'Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?' The professor begins to shake his head, still smiling, as he realizes where the argument is going. A very good semester, indeed.

'Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you now not a scientist, but a preacher?'

The class is in uproar. The student remains silent until the commotion has subsided. 'To continue the point you were making earlier to the other student, let me give you an example of what I mean.'

The student looks around the room. 'Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the professor's brain?' The class breaks out into laughter. 'Is there anyone h ere who has ever heard the professor's brain, felt the professor's brain, touched or smelt the professor's brain? No one appears to have done so. So, according to the established rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science says that you have no brain, with all due respect, sir.' 'So if science says you have no brain, how can we trust your lectures, sir?'

Now the room is silent. The professor just stares at the student, his face unreadable. Finally, after what seems an eternity, the old man answers. 'I guess you'll have to take them on faith.'

'Now, you accept that there is faith, and, in fact, faith exists with life,' the student continues.

'Now, sir, is there such a thing as evil?' Now uncertain, the professor responds, 'Of course, there is. We see it everyday. It is in the daily example of man's inhumanity to man. It is in the multitude of crime and violence everywhere in the world. These manifestations are nothing else but evil.'

To this the student replied, 'Evil does not exist sir, or at least it does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of God. It is just like darkness and cold, a word that man has created to describe the absence of God. God did not create evil. Evil is the result of what happens when man does not have God's love present in his heart. It's like the cold that comes when there is no heat or the darkness that comes when there is no light.'

The professor sat down.

Give and It Shall Be Given Unto You

This story comes from an unknown source - but it touched my heart. Perhaps it will touch yours as well.

The Sack Lunches

I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight. 'I'm glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will get a short nap,' I thought.

Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation. 'Where are you headed?' I asked the soldier seated nearest to me. 'Chicago - to Great Lakes Base. We'll be there for two weeks for special training, and then we're being deployed to Iraq '

After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours before we reached Chicago, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time. As I reached for my wallet, I overheard soldier ask his buddy if he planned to buy lunch. 'No, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack lunch. Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks. I'll wait till we get to Chicago ' His friend agreed.

I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill. 'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.' She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked me. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq; it's almost like you are doing it for him.'

Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you like best - beef or chicken?' 'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked. She turned and went to the front of plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class. 'This is your thanks.'

After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room. A man stopped me. 'I saw what you did. I want to be part of it. Here, take this.' He handed me twenty-five dollars.

Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand, and said, 'I want to shake your hand.' Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's hand. With a booming voice he said, 'I was a soldier and I was a military pilot. Once, someone bought me a lunch. It was an act of kindness I never forgot.' I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all of the passengers.

Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A man who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm. When we landed in Chicago I gathered my belongings and started to deplane. Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!

Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base. I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars. 'It will take you some time to reach the base. It will be about time for a sandwich. God Bless You.'

Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of their fellow travelers. As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return.

These soldiers were giving their all for our country. I could only give them a couple of meals. It seemed so little... A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check Made payable to 'The United States of America ' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.'

That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.

Theology Out of Nothing

My daughter has chided me for not posting more frequently to this "blog." I told her she would be even more bored by reading of what I do each day. For the past recent days, I have been reading the archives of a challenging writer, Al Maxey. His readers generally either love him or hate him - because he cuts to the nub of whatever his current subject is.

Here is a "jewel" - but it is not one of Jerry's Jewels. Rather, it is one Jerry discovered at http://www.zianet.com/maxey/reflx101.htm where it appears in the archives of the site, http://www.zianet.com/maxey/.

I hope you enjoy it as I did! Perhaps one reason I enjoyed it is that I once studied under Dr. Cottrell at the Cincinnati Christian Seminary way back about 1975 as I was pursuing my M.A. in New Testament Studies.

REFLECTIONS

by Al Maxey
Issue #101

January 27, 2004

It is in our lives, and not from our words,that our religion must be read.

Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)

Theology Ex Nihilo:

The Problem of Exegetical Blindness

and Doctrinal Calcification

Dr. Jack Cottrell has produced a fascinating study of the history, development, and philosophy of the feminist movement. This eye-opening study, which is entitled Feminism and the Bible: An Introduction to Feminism for Christians (College Press, 1992), provides a much needed insight into the reasoning processes of this movement, especially with respect to the biblical hermeneutic of its adherents.

It is not the intent of this issue of Reflections to seek to pass judgment, either pro or con, upon either Dr. Cottrell's work or the feminist movement. That responsibility I readily leave to each individual reader. Rather, my focus will be upon an extremely significant point that the author made near the end of his book with regard to the interpretation of the Scriptures. Commenting upon the feminist movement's use of God's inspired Word, Dr. Cottrell contends much of their hermeneutic "is a case of theology ex nihilo." This is a Latin phrase which simply signifies "out of nothing." The author continues, "My point is that their finding this view in the Bible is a sheer act of will: They want to find it so badly that they unconsciously call into existence that which does not exist" (p. 298). "It is a case of theology ex nihilo;" a theology which has been "willed into existence in order to support" their previously established system of beliefs and practices (p. 313). Dr. Cottrell delves even deeper into their psyche by stating this is all "symptomatic of exegetical blindness caused by doctrinal calcification" (p. 312).

Just how accurately these statements by Dr. Cottrell characterize the various segments of the movement being scrutinized in his work is, of course, open to debate. However, there is little doubt that the above quotes do reflect a tremendous truth which is applicable to us all: unless extreme caution is exercised in our interpretation of the sacred writings, we may well find ourselves embracing a theology ex nihilo. What a sobering thought: that some of our practices and beliefs may not be firmly established upon a foundation of ultimate, objective Truth, but rather upon little more than willful, even wishful, expressions of a self-made religion.
Tragically, all of this is merely symptomatic of a much deeper problem: a basic blindness to the great principles of Truth, as conveyed by God in His inspired Word, due to the fact that one has become calcified over the years in one's own religious biases. Jesus soundly rebuked the scribes and Pharisees for invalidating the Word of God for the sake of their traditions, stating that their worship was in vain because they were elevating the doctrines of men rather than esteeming those of God (Matthew 15:6, 9).

One of the reasons for so much division within the Body of Christ is that far too many persons seek to impose their own theology upon the Scriptures, instead of extracting our Lord's teaching from out of those inspired writings. This tendency is an example of theology ex nihilo. If the only basis for our religious preferences and practices is an appeal to what God didn't say, or the creative manipulation of what He did, we have formulated a theological system "out of nothing!"
By failing to perceive the Truths God has revealed to us in His inspired Word, we often feel compelled to formulate our own "truths" out of what He has not revealed -- theology ex nihilo. We elevate to the status of divine LAW our own notions about which God has declared nothing. We then seek to impose these doctrines, dogmas, and decrees upon others, and will restrict our fellowship to those who meekly accept our self-made theology. In so doing, we have embraced the shadows and rejected the substance! We have prostrated ourselves before a system rather than a Savior! We have entered into a religion rather than a relationship!

The apostle Paul warned the young evangelist Timothy that a time was fast approaching when men would no longer desire the substantive Truths clearly revealed by God. Instead, "they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance to their own desires; and will turn away their ears from the truth, and will turn aside to myths" (2 Timothy 4:3-4). Demonic doctrines and deceitful spirits would be the companions of their new-found theology, and blessings which "God has created to be gratefully shared in by those who believe and know the truth" would be forbidden (1 Timothy 4:1-3).

There is ultimately only one source to which man can turn for his theology when he rejects God's wisdom from above: the vast empty void of earthly wisdom (James 3:15). When our preferences, practices, and perceptions become our "pattern" ... when our earthbound traditions are elevated to eternal Truth ... we truly have nothing! We have severed ourselves from our Savior in our futile quest to become self-justified, and have only succeeded in becoming self-righteous!

Our Lord's most scathing rebukes were leveled against the rigid religionists of His day who had become so calcified in their own system of theological biases that they were no longer willing to openly and honestly reflect upon God's revealed Truth. They traveled far and wide to make converts to their system, but in so doing were in actuality making them "twice as much a son of hell" as they themselves (Matthew 23:15). By proclaiming a theology formulated out of nothing other than their own traditional teachings and personal perceptions and preferences, they were delivering their disciples unto destruction.

In view of the grave consequences of doing the opposite, it is essential that each of us "preach the Word!" (2 Timothy 4:2), for only therein lies Truth (John 17:17). All else is theology ex nihilo, and such theology will lead those who embrace it into the great eternal void away from the presence of God, rather than into the substantive joys of life everlasting.

Hasidic Jews: "I can see why some people hate them"

I just got back from a short trip to Ukraine. Short in time, not in distance. Ukraine is 7 hours east of my time zone!

We flew Orlando - Detroit (where we joined our group) - Frankfurt - Kiev - Sevastopol on our outward flight. In Kiev we missed our connection to Sevastopol in the Crimea.

We missed the connection because of the misbehavior of some Hasidic Jews.

The flight from Frankfurt-Kiev was full - with more than half (maybe more than three quaters) of the passengers being Hasidic Jews on a pilgrimage. Most were from Israel, but some were from the USA.

Most of them were as well behaved as any airline passengers. There were some, however, who made us late.

First, as we boarded the plane, we were taken by buses from the terminal to the plane where we boarded by both the front and rear doors. Naturally, some of the Jewish passengers whose seats were near the rear of the plane boarded from the front - and vice versa. That created a jam in the aisle as some pushed to the rear from the front and some pushed to the front from the rear. Everyone seemingly had to get past several other people to reach the assigned seats - with everyone carrying cabin baggage as well. NOT the most efficient boarding I've ever seen! (The airline was Lufthansa, a very good airline. I do not blame them. It was the utter disregard for other passengers shown by the majority group on the plane.)

That could have been the result of ignorance of how seating on a plane is arranged. What happened after we were on board was something else!

While some of the group went to the seats in a normal fashion, others felt they needed to "swap" seats with someone else. I had hardly gotten settled into my center seat with one of the majority group by the window beside me when he decided to swap with someone else. Of course, My wife and I had to get up to let him out and the other gentleman in. We were not the only ones who had to accommodate "swaps."

While all of this was going on, the aisle was in utter confusion. When the plane would, under normal conditions, have been ready to taxi there were still many people in the aisle. Of course, the captain could not move until everyone was seated and seat belts were buckled.

In spite of numerous calls for people to be seated, several were still wandering the aisle visiting with their friends.

Others were in the aisle preparing to pray. Those with prayer shawls had to twirl them around just so. One was doing this as he stood near my wife's aisle seat and hit her with a long tassle. She cried, "Ouch!" He kept on twirling his shawl. He also had a thong from his phillactory that he wrapped around his arm in a special way. When everything was set to his satisfaction, he sat down in his seat, leaned forward (as in the emergency preparing to crash position), pulled the shawl over his head and proceded to pray. Anyway, I think that's what he was doing. At least he was silent in this prayer.

After a long delay, the pilot was finally able to take off - several minutes late. Since I knew we had only a short time between flights in Kiev and that we would have to clear immigration/customs there, I began to be concerned that we might not make that next flight.

Enroute, the plane was not delayed - but the cabin crew could not serve the passengers in a normal way because the aisle was blocked. When they needed to move a service cart down the aisle, someone would be standing in the aisle talking with a friend. They were a very sociable group - among themselves, but not with anyone else! (In this, they reminded me of some church members who brag about how friendly their church is - while visitors are ignored as the members talk with one another!)

This became so annoying to the crew that they were really getting frustrated. The captain (a lady pilot) repeatedly tried to get them to sit down and fasten their seat belts - to no avail.

As we approached the airport in Kiev, the pilot again requested that all passengers be seated and fasten their safety belts. She was ignored. Could they not understand her because of language barrier? Maybe for some - but they were also ignoring their traveling companions who were trying to get them to be seated! It was taking so long to get them seated that I really thought we would miss our place in the landing pattern and have to "go around" again!

By now I was really getting concerned about catching that next flight!

Finally, the male members of the cabin crew were able to get everyone seated - but I am not sure that everyone fastened the seat belts! The plane landed, but as soon as speed was reduced to a normal taxi level, up they popped again. We were still far from where we needed to be to get to the terminal, but the captain stopped the plane until they were seated. It took several instructions from her before they would sit. Were they just not willing to listen to a woman, even one in command?

Finally the men in the cabin crew were able to get them seated - but not belted - and we continued to the terminal.

This group drew attention to themselves, not only by their behavior, but also by their dress. They were all "men in black" with black pants and long black coats down to mid-thigh or lower. They wore either a black skull cap or a wide brim black hat. Some wore both. Several had phillactories tied by bands to their foreheads. One very distinctive feature was two ringlets hanging from their sideburns. Nearly all of these were at least six inches long with some reaching to at least sixteen or eighteen inches. These were as beautiful as the ringlets on any little girl who was fully decked out in her Easter finery.

This was an interesting experience for me, but what did it mean other than than we missed our connecting flight and had to find seats on later planes? (We were able to do this - and were only about four or five hours late reaching our final destination.)

This particular sect of the Jews bears some striking similarities to the Pharisees of Jesus' day. In fact, they are spiritual descendants of the sect of the Pharisees who made a lot of outward show, but whose "religion" did not touch their hearts. These were on a religious pilgrimage to find a spiritual blessing. Yet, they showed extreme selfishness in their behavior.

I could see more clearly than ever why Jesus had so much trouble with the spiritual ancesters of this group. I understand more what he was talking about when he said they love to pray on the street corners to be seen by men to be praying.

This behavior tended to put people off. It certainly did not draw anyone to them! One of my traveling companions observed, "Now I can see why some people hate them."

Yet, as I think about this experience, I have come to wonder about myself as well. I have been in some groups that, while not being quite as obnoxious as that group, have acted in pretty self-centered ways. Have I affected others the way those affected me? This leads me to want to be more careful in my behavior. Maybe we all should, especially when traveling together in large groups. I must be more careful of how my behavior and attitude affects those around me.

I certainly do not want behavior like theirs to lead someone observing me to observe, "Now I can see why some people hate Christians."

Hello, World!

This is my first post on my new blog. Now I can exercise my freedom of speech in a way that anyone can hear - but I wonder.


If a tree falls in the forest with no one to head, does it make any sound? If I blog and no one reads it, have I said anything?


Speech is one form of communication. But if no one listens, is there communication? If there is no communication, is there speech? Or is there just babble?


The words spoken may be true and beautiful. But what is their value if no one listens?


How much of the speech that is the constant hum around us is valueless - simply because no one listens.


But when there are so many voices, how can I listen to them all? Is it the one that is the loudest that I hear? Or can I focus on another voice and hear it?


Do I hear the still small voice that has more value than the voice of the thunder? Or will I listen to the voice crying in the wilderness that speaks more truth than is heard in the palace or the temple?

Where is my focus? That is the important thing to me as a hearer. Is my heart set on the things that matter? Am I listening to the ONE who matters most? If I have ears to hear, am I listening?

But how about as a speaker? How do I get a hearing? That, indeed, is the question!

Will what I say have value? Obviously, I think it will - or why would I name this blog "Jewels from Jerry"? But will anyone else think so?

Only time will tell!