Thy Kingdom Come: In gratitude for Kirk and his many prayers

Kirk at one of the "on the hill"
gatherings we have hosted

“My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought 

in the depths of the earth;
Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.” 

Psalm 139:15, 16 (NASB)

Rev. “Kirk” Petterson spoke a lot about prayer. In fact, you could say that after serving a congregation in Shell Lake for ten years and then moving to Chetek to serve here it's about all he ever spoke about. But more than just talking about it he actually did it and demonstrated with his life that among his other loves – such as his wife, LeAnn, and their children and grandchildren as well as the efficacy of certain barbecued meats – communion with the Father and intercession for God's people was one of the top priorities of his life.

Some of the membership of the Breakfast Club.
Kirk's spot was usually at the head of the table

We met at a Pastor's Prayer Summit held at Luther Park back in the mid-90s but after he moved to town a few years later he quickly became a regular compadre of our circle of intercessors and assorted prayer warriors here. In fact, Kirk was a significant catalyst for a prayer movement that began in the mid-2000s when a number of us began to gather at what was then Bob's Grill (now Chetek Cafe) every Tuesday morning. The format was simple: breakfast, coffee and conversation followed by a time of prayer. We dubbed ourselves “the Breakfast Club” and with the exception of when Christmas and New Years fall on a Tuesday, have been meeting there ever since throughout the calendar year. We pray for each other, for our community and for God's Church in our area.

"Around-the-Grounds '15"

Kirk was a founding member of our club and that regular meeting and eating and praying together naturally fostered love and trust. And out of love and trust, as all of us should know, so many good things happened and continue to happen. In order to give us some kind of cache with those outside our group we created what we called the Chetek Area Prayer Initiative. On top of our weekly breakfast meetings we continue to sponsor so many corporate prayer events including “Around-the-Grounds” (an annual prayer walk around and through our schools prior to the beginning of the new school year), “See You on the Hill” (a prayer meeting for our city on top of the only hill in town), “A Day Away to Pray” (an informal pastor's prayer gathering that occurs every so often), “A Progressive Prayer Meeting” (just like a progressive dinner we moved from church to church), not to mention the annual “See You At the Pole!”, “National Day of Prayer” and “Sanctity of Human Life Sunday” gatherings. Over the years participation in these events has ebbed and flowed according to people's interest and schedule but Kirk was always there. He agreed that we God's people needed to be about the business of intercession and he lived it.

When Pastor Norm, another founding member of the Breakfast Club, owned a pontoon one Tuesday morning in the summer we loaded up the boat and puttered around the lake praying for our city from that floating platform. As much as the Chetek Hydroflites regularly pack out their ski show and just as the lawn between Advent Christian and their parsonage is always full on the night of the fireworks we asked God (among many other things) that His house would be just as full of people seeking Him. For a few years running five of us drew the names of participating fellowships out of the proverbial hat and whatever church we drew that was where we preached that Sunday. Yes, love and trust can move mountains where organizational meetings only seem to grow them.

Kirk praying on the pontoon

When George Otis, Jr began producing his Transformations documentaries, it was Kirk who got us watching them and the watching fueled our imaginations what might be here in our city and area if we redoubled our efforts to pray for not just revival but wholesale transformation. When The Elk River Story: Transforming the Spiritual Climate of a City came out it was Kirk who gave us all complimentary copies. When a group of intercessors from our community felt compelled to begin a House of Prayer right here in town, Kirk and LeAnn not only frequented the weekly gatherings held there they supported it financially every month. When his own church decided to take one of their Sunday School rooms and turn it into a prayer room, it was Kirk who designed and outfitted it. Yup, prayer was very much what he was all about.

This is the book he gifted us all with
this past Christmas

He prayed long. In fact, he once laughingly told me that someone from his fellowship called him a “prayer hog” as once he started into praying he wouldn't stop until he was prayed out. (I won't speak for the other guys but I know that on more than a few occasions I struggled to hang in there with him and secretly hoped for the meter to run out!) But regardless of the length of his intercession, his prayer generally included a cry for God to send “a Holy Ghost, heaven-sent revival”, a prayer that we who remain will continue to pray from this side of eternity.

Praying at the HOP

He prayed continually. Tuesday mornings and Thursday nights (at the House of Prayer), Wednesday nights (at Northside Christian, the fellowship he was a member of), and once a month on Friday nights (at The Well in Barron, a ministry focused on the local Somali population there). And that's only the gatherings I'm aware of. I'm sure there were others. I am grateful for his example of persistent prayer. Jesus Himself, the Captain of the Host, exhorted his First Century disciples and also exhorts us his Twenty-First Century ones the same: we “should always pray and not give up” (Luke 18:1). As far as I see it, Kirk was faithful in that. He liked his meat rare and his preference in pancakes was always “gooey” (regardless of the cook who was on he always offered to demonstrate just what that was but for the record he never sent any back). But he prayed on regardless of the consistency of his cake.

Praying at The Well 2010

In recent years he had been struggling with various health issues. In fact, three years ago he nearly died while attending the international convention of the College of Prayer International in Atlanta. He recovered and returned to his normal routine of prayer around our community. Psalm 139:15-16 became one of his verses claiming that since every day of his life was already recorded in God's book he planned to live every one of them. During the last year he liked to quote some African brother he heard at a COP gathering who said, “If God has ordained for you to die on Friday you cannot die on Thursday.” To him it gave purpose to each day he was given. How ironic that he actually died on a Friday.

A Concert of Prayer held at Northside 2016

Some people serve their community by volunteering at a local food shelf or at the school. Others serve as an alderman or as a member of a non-profit organization. Kirk served us here in Chetek by praying persistently and consistently for all of us. I will miss his presence at the Breakfast Club and every other prayer event that we usually host in the course of a calendar year. I will miss his prayers, long though they could be, but now the rest of us will just have to pray on a little longer now that his voice has been silenced. Of course, his prayers that he raised in this life, especially the ones that have not been realized with regardless to that 'heaven-sent, Holy Ghost revival' he asked so persistently for remain continually as incense in God's presence (Revelation 5:8). And for that I am grateful because it seems like we need that more now than ever before.

May the Lord bless and keep him and may there be stacks of gooey pancakes cooked to perfection in the presence of the Lord he loved so dearly in this life.

At our most recent "Day Away to Pray" gathering in January 2019

Let it shine: What I "saw" last night at "Wait & See"

“Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. And five of them were wise, and five were foolish. They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them: But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept. And at midnight there was a cry made, 'Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.' Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said unto the wise, 'Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.' But the wise answered, saying, 'Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.'

And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut. Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, 'Lord, Lord, open to us.' But he answered and said, 'Verily I say unto you, I know you not.'"

“Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.” Matthew 25:1-13, KJV

The Second Sunday evening of every month since last year has been set aside for an hour of corporate prayer in the sanctuary of our fellowship. I started scheduling such an event after reading Joyce Huggett's book The Joy of Listening to God (Intervarsity Press © 1987). Speaking only for myself, I know how to talk to God; it's the listening part that is challenging to me. I call these gatherings “Wait & See” because my hope is that we will wait upon the Lord and then "see" and hear what he may be saying to us.

The format that we use for this gathering is fairly simple. I put on some quiet, instrumental worship and encourage those who attend to sit quietly anywhere in the sanctuary and be still before him. Most people bring their Bible with them. I bring my journal as well. We are quiet for the first half hour or so trying to allow him room to speak. After this we circle up and share among ourselves impressions, thoughts, pictures or Scripture that may have come to mind while we sat. The goal is try and discern any common themes or Scriptures that may come to light as we share.

Yesterday it snowed all day and while by evening the snow was tapering off the plows had only begun to clear the way. Honestly, these gatherings are not well attended – usually only between four and seven people – so I fully anticipated that I might be on my own for this gathering. But if the priest in the days of the Tabernacle was required to keep the lamp of the Presence burning daily how could I neglect the Lord because of four inches worth of snow? Besides I only live three blocks away.

But three showed up – Sandy, a senior citizen, Sara, a twenty-something and Randy, one of our elders who lives out of town – and more than quorum was met. Since beginning this routine of these gatherings I have gotten better at learning to still myself before the Lord. But last night I came to the gathering with a lot of interior noise and static. I was frustrated over a few fellowship matters, our internet at home wasn't working, and one sentence out of an otherwise positive letter from a couple in our congregation raised a bit of ire in me. So out of a need to quiet myself I turned to Philippians 4 and re-read the words of Paul to myself:

“Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in him! [Peterson's translation of “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again, Rejoice] Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them. Help them see that the Master is about to arrive. He could show up any minute!”

“Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.” (Philippians 4:6-7, Msg)

I had to do this first, purposefully rejoicing in God's goodness, the wonder that for over twenty-seven years a group of people still unflinchingly affirmed me as their pastor and that probably was okay to be off the 'net for an afternoon and evening. I won't say my spirit settled immediately but eventually it did.

And then in my mind's eye as I continued to kneel at the altar I saw Pastor Guy. Pastor Guy pastors Chetek Lutheran Church down the street from us. He's something of an artist and will just as eagerly quote Scripture as he will, say, John Lennon, as a part of his weekly message. He's also writes and plays folk music. So while I knelt at the altar disciplining myself to rejoice and not to worry I saw and heard Pastor Guy playing “This Little Light of Mine” as he had done at our annual ministerial Post-Epiphany Christmas Party a few weeks before.

Pastor Guy working his magic

Journal entry #1:

“We are probably the only Christians in Chetek tonight gathered together to pray. Four souls out on a snowy night to wait on God together. I can't help but hear refrains of “This Little Light of Mine” as we do. Our 'little light' burns tonight – may it light the darkness and encourage the faithful to keep their lamp trimmed.”

I then turned to Matthew 25 to re-read the Parable of the Ten Virgins. Five were wise and five were foolish. The wise ones remained alert while the foolish allowed themselves to become distracted, sleepy or both. And then suddenly, the bridegroom showed up and the wedding began in earnest to the joy of the wise virgins and the shock and disappointment of the foolish ones.

Journal entry #2:

“I want to be diligent to keep my lamp trimmed with a ready supply of oil. I want to stay on task, expecting inspection at any moment. May You lead our prayers so that we at Refuge and the faithful here in town will remain diligent, fervent, serving the Lord.”

I had entered the sanctuary thirty minutes before frustrated (among other things) that I couldn't get on-line at home and the tech support people had been less than professional in their dealings with me. (To be fair, I wasn't the best of customer to them.) A half hour later, however, I was in earnest that we here would be about the Master's business when he returns.

Journal entry #3:

“Yes, I'm on my way! I'll be there soon! I'm bringing my payroll with me. I'll pay all people in full for their life's work!” (Jesus in Revelation 22:12, The Message) Lord, may my life's work glorify You and bring glory to You.”

As we circled up and shared the Scriptures and impressions that we had individually felt a common theme did emerge that could be summed up this way: small things matter and cause significant change

Sandy:  “What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade.” (Mark 4:31-32, NIV) All God needs is a small mustard seed of hope and he can turn things around.

Sara: “...let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16, NIV) Even a little light can brighten the darkness. So may God help us to be his light wherever we go.

Randy: “Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, 'children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.' Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of life.” (Philippians 2:14-16, NIV). We need to be light.

These weren't the only things that each of them shared. There were more. But I think we could sense at least one thing God was saying to us on a snowy night in Chetek: Don't give up gathering together and seeking me. Stay alert and awake. Stay on task and be diligent. Remember “even a little light” can brighten a dark room.

“So let it shine, let it shine, let it shine...”

Some thoughts on being an "unbusy" pastor

“The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.” Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption

Busy. 

That's what we all tend to feel these days. Places to go. Things to do. People to “touch base” with. Because I'm a pastor at Christmastime I usually get a lot of undeserved sympathy - as in “It must be a pretty busy time for you, pastor” - when the truth is I'm no busier than anyone else at that time of year. But the belief persists that ministers have so much more to do every Advent than any other time of year except Lent and Easter (to be fair, my liturgical brothers in the Catholic and Lutheran traditions probably are a lot busier at those times of the year). Anyway I serve a non-traditional congregation and unless I feel compelled to schedule special events or gatherings, the members of the fellowship I serve are only too happy to not have a reason to show up in the sanctuary other than our weekly worship gathering on Sunday morning because, after all, they too are busy with the matters of their own lives.

Ask someone how things are going and they'll probably reply with some version of “fine...but we've been busy” (in fact, when is the last time you asked someone how they were and they replied, 'Great. I've had nothing to do for weeks on end'?). Pastors do the same thing but frequently they use the phrase as a catch-all excuse to get out of some function they've been invited to. “I'd like to but I'm real busy right now” or “Wish I could but gosh I just have so much to do.” Frankly, it's a cop-out but I have a measure of empathy for those who use it because most pastors usually feel they do have a lot to do.

If you're a pastor this is a good read

Lately, I've been reading Eugene H. Peterson's memoir, The Pastor and he writes about how early on in his pastoral call he struggled with being a “busy pastor.” He had successfully pioneered a new work, built a sanctuary and the congregation was self-sustaining but there always seemed like there was more stuff to do. One evening things came to a head when his five-year-old daughter asked him to read her a story:

I said, “I'm sorry, Karen, but I have a meeting tonight.”

“This is the twenty-seventh night in a row you have had a meeting.” She had been keeping track, counting.

The meeting I had to go to was with the church's elders, the ruling body of the congregation. In the seven-minute walk to the church on the way to the meeting I made a decision. If succeeding as a pastor meant failing as a parent, I was already a failed pastor. I would resign that very night.

We met in my study. I convened the meeting and scrapped the agenda. I told them what Karen had said twenty minutes earlier in our living room. And I resigned. I told them I tried not to work so hard, but that I didn't seem to be able to do it. “And it's not just Karen. It's you too. I haven't been a pastor to this congregation for six months. I pray in fits and starts. I feel like I'm in a hurry all the time. When I visit or have lunch with you, I'm not listening to you; I am thinking of ways I can get the momentum going again. My sermons are thrown together. I don't want to live like this, either with you or with my family.”

When his leaders asked what he wanted to do months of growing frustration with the way things were suddenly burst out of him in a long harangue:

“I want to be a pastor who prays. I want to be reflective and responsive and relaxed in the presence of God so that I can be reflective and responsive and relaxed in your presence. I can't do that on the run. It takes a lot of time. I started out doing that with you, but now I feel too crowded.”

“I want to be a pastor who reads and studies. This culture in which we live squeezes all the God sense out of us. I want to be observant and informed enough to help this congregation understand what we are up against, the temptations of the devil to get us thinking we can all be our own gods. This is subtle stuff. It demands some detachment and perspective. I can't do this just by trying harder.”

“I want to be a pastor who has the time to be with you in leisurely, unhurried conversations so that I can understand and be a companion with you as you grown in Christ – your doubts and your difficulties, your desires and your delights. I can't do that when I am running scared.”

“I want to be a pastor who leads you in worship, a pastor who brings you before God in receptive obedience, a pastor who preaches sermons that make scripture accessible and present and alive, a pastor who is able to give you a language and imagination that restores in you a sense of dignity as a Christian in your homes and workplaces and gets rid of these debilitating images of being a 'mere' layperson.”

“I want to have the time to read a story to Karen.”

“I want to be an unbusy pastor.” (pp. 277-78)

I wear a lot of hats around here – pastor, mayor, coach – so there are times of the calendar year when my life is fuller than say it normally is but the last thing on earth I want to be perceived as by members of our fellowship or people from town is someone who is “busy”, as in “too busy” to be called upon or available for prayer or a listening ear. Since Day 1 I've had an “open door” policy in that people don't need to have an appointment to stop in and visit me. Of course, from time to time I am with someone else but for the most part if my car is parked out front, the pastor (or coach or mayor) is “in.”

I don't want to give the wrong impression that people are beating a path to my door daily. They're not. Many days I am left to myself to tend to whatever I think needs doing that day. But just yesterday afternoon while trying to put my thoughts together for this post (which I wanted to get on-line yesterday) I had three individuals from Refuge who at various times throughout the day wanted to bend my ear for awhile. How could I not oblige them? Besides that probably was my main assignment anyway.

I realize not everyone rolls that way. Some guys block out whole mornings – or afternoons – for study and sermon prep and are religious in their commitment to that. I've tried that approach but somehow it's never worked well for me. I tend to prayer and the reading of the Scriptures when alone and if someone stops in for a chat I put that aside. I just figure it'll keep. I, too, want to be an “unbusy” pastor being attentive to whatever audibles the Lord may call for me that day. In my case, I'd like to think of myself as not busy but being fully present at where I need to be at that moment be it office, city hall or at practice. Granted, that's more art than science and I don't always get that right. Life for all of us, whether pastor or not, is all about juggling and sometimes just like everyone else I drop a few balls.

Good juggling to you

Wasting the gift: A meditation on the life and death of Samson

“...but the Angel said to her '...you will soon conceive and have a son!...for he shall be...a special servant of God from the time of his birth; and he will begin to rescue Israel...'” Judges 13:3-5, LB

30 “Don’t be frightened...” the angel told her, “for God has decided to wonderfully bless you! 31 Very soon now, you will become pregnant and have a baby boy...32 He shall be very great and...And he shall reign over Israel forever...'” Luke 2:30-32, LB

My devotions this year have come out of my meditative reading of the Book of Judges and recently I was struck by the fact that of all the leaders named and talked about in this volume, only Samson

has a story about his birth. In fact, the Samson cycle is four chapters long (Judges 13-16 - pretty long as stories go in that book) and one quarter of it alone (chapter 13) concerns how he came to be.

Samson as a baby boy?

His parents, Manoah and Mrs (only Delilah gets named in his story; all the other women – including his mother – are simply referred to impersonally as in “the woman”) live on the frontier of western Judah within shouting distance of the hated Philistine hostiles that live in the coastal region. Though they've been married for sometime they have no children and to be barren in those days was a curse. And then one day all that changes. Expectantly, while going about her housework, the woman is met by an angel who shares with her remarkable news: she was going to be a mother. In fact, she was already with child. Her only son was destined for greatness (so the angel said) and therefore his whole life he was to live the Nazirite way.

Did Samson have dreds?

In those days, if someone wanted to dedicate himself to God for a certain season of time, he would inform the priest and this would be the terms of his consecration: he was to drink nothing with alcohol in it, remain ritually pure by steering clear of anything dead and refrain from cutting his hair. It was the hair cut (or lack thereof) that would give you away to be a Nazirite, a separated one. This kind of vow could not be demanded. It was totally voluntary except in Samson's case: the angel told the woman he was to be a Nazirite his entire life, consecrated and set-apart for a special purpose. These were the terms of his extraordinary life. In fact, later when the angel returns and speaks to Manoah who wanted both confirmation as well as further instructions all the angel will offer is what he commanded the first time: he was to be a Nazirite for always. He would be God's chosen tool to begin to deliver his people from the domination by the Philistines.

The bad guys of Judges, Samuel and Kings

Hundreds of years before under Joshua's leadership, the Israelites had entered the land and had begun the process of evicting the Canaanites. God's instructions delivered by Moses had been very clear: everyone must go. No one who did not embrace the leadership of Yahweh as it was spelled out to Moses on Sinai was to remain in the land. If they did in time, they would “turn your sons away from me to serve other gods and the Lord's anger will burn against you and quickly destroy you” (Deut 7:4). Initially they had experienced impressive victories – Jericho, Ai, Gibeon – but at the time of Joshua's retirement there were still pockets of resistance of Canaanites who stubbornly remained in the land of Promise. What the Book of Judges records is what happens to God's people when they do not heed God's command: like a cancer the attraction to the world – at least, the world of their Canaanite neighbors – spreads insidiously among them and over a long period of time they eventually become indistinguishable from them. By the time Samson is born they've conformed so much to the worldly ways of the Canaanites that they've nearly forgotten their unique identity as a “people holy to the Lord your God” (Deut 7:6). This stokes God's ire and if they will not resist the Philistines and their growing cultural influence, he will.

Samson's life, so the angel said, was the first salvo of deliverance from Philistine domination. Later Saul would contend with them rigorously and David would do clean-up. After King David's rule, the Philistines pretty much vanish as a foil to God's people. But during Samson's lifetime they are a prevalent menace that no Israelite will do anything about.

Unselfconsciously, simply by being his impulsive, willful, selfish self, denying totally the consecrated life he was destined to live, he becomes a wrecking ball to Philistine hegemony. By the end of his short life, as the Philistine body count mounts he literally pulls the house down on top of their leaders, their priests and their god (see Judges 16). But even as the dust settles I can't get around the fact that his life was pretty much a train wreck that leaves me wondering what could have been had he tried to live the set-apart life he was called to live.

In my previous readings of Samson I've read the end of his story as almost like a “thief-on-the-cross” moment – a guy who realizes too late that he's squandered the gift God had given him but now requests one more opportunity to glorify God before his life is over. But that's not what the narrator tells us. Yes, his hair begins to grow again (16:22) (did none of the guys who captured him tell their boss what Delilah had learned about his hair?) Was nobody paying attention when following his “performance” (could it have been feats of strength?) he asked to be put between the pillars that “hold the temple up”? (v. 27) But the nature of his final prayer reveals the soul of the man. Here was no penitent thief on the cross- kind of prayer, i.e., “Lord, remember me when you enter your kingdom” but “Oh, please, give strength yet once more. God! With one avenging blow let me be avenged on the Philistines for my two eyes!” (v. 28). No contrition here. There is nothing but a desire for revenge and with one mighty shove he dies with those he had lived and contended with for much of his life.

Reading his story again during Advent I couldn't help but hear echos of the Nativity story that we read again at this time of year:

• Like Jesus, the angel announced to his mother who was barren that she would give birth to a son.

• Like Jesus, the angel shared with her knowledge that he was being consecrated for a special purpose.

• Like Jesus, Samson was born to two parents living on the outskirts of wherever the action was (e.g., he was not born in Shiloh where the Tabernacle resided).

• Like Jesus, he was rejected by his own people and turned over to Gentile overlords (Judges 15).

• And like Jesus, his delivering-work that he was born to do was consummated in his death.

But for all that Samson was nothing like Jesus. As one man puts it aptly:

He is one of the most narcissistic persons in all the Bible. Self-gratification is what drives this man. Never in the Samson narrative does he operate in anyone's interest but his own. He does not care about God's plan or any of the divine standards of either his place as an Israelite or his Nazirite status. He does not care about the will of his parents or the hearts of his “lovers” with whom he consorts. All are to be manipulated for his sake...Very simply, Samson is not a type of Christ...Instead, if anything, Samson is a foil to Christ. Yes, there are similarities, but the contrasts are much greater. The similarities only heighten the contrasts all the more.

(NIV Application Commentary on Judges by K. Lawson Younger, Jr pp. 327-28)

How vastly different is the Savior that we welcome at his birth every December 25.

"He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion." Philippians 2:5-8, Msg

“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” 2 Corinthians 5:21, NIV

At the credits roll on Samson's story the narrator adds, “He had led

Israel twenty years.” I haven't really figured out yet what that means. I mean for the bulk of his story he's living in a cave by himself or going into some Philistine town for a night of fornicating with some of their women. What we're told of him is that he's ruled by his glands and his passions. If that's leadership it certainly it's lowest form of it and his style is not to be envied or copied. In movies, he's commonly portrayed like a version of The Rock, a he-man with abs of steel. But if that's so why are the Philistines willing to pay Delilah $15 million in today's dollars (16:5) to find out his secret? What if he was just a guy who looked like an otherwise normal Hebrew until his life was threatened and then the Spirit of God would rush upon him and he would be unstoppable? The incredible hulk but just not green or muscle-bound?

This is how I usually imagine Samson

But what if he looked more like Mark Ruffalo than Dwayne Johnson?

Regardless, his legacy is tragic. Sure, he killed a lot of Philistines before his death but he frittered away his life and the awesome God-given potential that he had been born with. It provokes me to not be like him. To not live only for myself and my own version of success as we define it around here. To live, rather, obediently and faithfully and aspire to follow the path that Christ himself took all the way to Golgotha, if that is what is required of me.

A little Shekinah here if you don't mind: An Advent Meditation

Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays
Welcome Christmas! Come this way
Fahoo forays, dahoo dorays
Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day

Welcome, welcome, fahoo ramus
Welcome, welcome, dahoo damus
Christmas Day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to clasp

“Welcome Christmas” from the 1966 “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”

A week ago Saturday night I decorated the sanctuary and entryway of our church for Advent (yes, I'm well aware that we are already well into Advent; it's how we roll in this fellowship.) It's not usually my job (for good reason). In fact, in the twenty-seven Advents I have served here I don't recall ever having to do it. But this year my lone volunteer got called into work at the last minute and on the eve of the Second Sunday in Advent our sanctuary was still looking a lot like Thanksgiving (as had been pointed out to me by someone on the First Sunday in Advent). So circumstances press-ganged me, as it were, into decorating service along with my somewhat reluctant wife and son who were there only because of my plea for help.

The funny thing is the longer you leave it plugged in
the more the lights come on. Odd.

The congregation I serve is a small one. Most of them are in these parts and with few exceptions our odd assortment of wreathes and candles and Advent what-nots are cast-offs from various people's homes or thrift sales. Last year two of our ladies bought a brand new artificial tree for the entryway that came with the lights already attached. This seemed to be just the ticket for a fellowship like ours that is – er, light – on committees. All you need do was take it out of the box and plug it in. It worked great last year but this past Saturday night when I plugged the tree in only the bottom third lit up. Admittedly, tidings of great joy did not automatically roll off my tongue.

I'm not Lutheran anymore
but they sure know how
to get ready for the season

As I dug through the bins that hold our collection of Christmas decorations I found myself wishing we were more like the Lutherans. In my experience, Lutherans do the seasons right. The colors, the banners, the candles, the trees, the lights. Everything matches and nothing whatsoever appears secondhand at all. Rich is a word that comes to mind as in both the quality of the item and the fullness of the meaning. I can still recall when I was a boy the excitement that would bubble up within me like some latent artesian spring when the first candle would be lit on the Advent wreath that hung reverently above the sanctuary. Christmas was approaching. (In my early years of service here I introduced the folks to an Advent Wreath but it didn't have the same effect them as it did on me when I was a boy. Apparently I was being way too Lutheran for a pastor of a Pentecostal church.)

So there I was grumbling beneath my breath as I hung wreaths and swags and Linda set up the donated nativity set in the sanctuary. The YouTube channel I had chosen to stream Christmas music kept cutting out and buffering interminably. Linda had a set of her own complaints a few of which she shared with me. And Charlie just wondered when we could go home. Our little decorating conclave was anything but festive.

I've been reading Eugene H. Peterson's memoir – The Pastor – of late. In the middle of my foul reverie of how drab our decorations are and how spotted and faded the carpet in our sanctuary is, I thought of a story his friend, Paul, a Jewish rabbi, had once shared with him. In his early days of ministry, Peterson was planting a church in the basement of his home in suburban Baltimore. It was a church that “didn't look like a church” (one of his teens lovingly referred to it as 'Catacomb Presbyterian'). A few of his parishoners had left the fledgling congregation over what they thought a church should look like. As he reflected on their exit with his rabbi-friend, Paul told a story about the Shekinah glory of God:

At the end of the Babylonian captivity, as the exiles returned to Israel, they began to rebuild the Temple. To us, a church is a holy place but you can always go to another church if you move or you don't like the one you're at. For them, however, the Temple was the house where God resided and the centerpiece of their nation. There was no other place to worship God. But this Second Temple that they had built was but a shadow of the one Solomon had constructed centuries before. So when it was at last dedicated the response of the old ones in their company – the ones who had once worshiped at Solomon's Temple decades before - was revealing.

When the first people arrived they took one look at the restored temple and wept at what they saw. The Solomonic temple that for five hundred years had provided a glorious centering for their life as a people of God had been replaced by what looked to them like a tarpaper shack. The squalid replacement broke their hearts, and they wept. As they wept, a dazzling, light-resplendent presence descended, the Shekinah –God's personal presence – and filled that humble, modest, makeshift, sorry excuse for a temple with glory. They lifted their arms in praise. They were truly home. God was truly present. The Shekinah faded out. The glory stayed.

“People like you and me,” Paul continued, “need that Shekinah story. And our congregations need it. Most of what we do in getting our congregations going doesn't look anything like what people expect it to.” (Paul's congregation was a fledgling synagogue worshipping in a three-car garage that didn't look at all like a synagogue.)

It's not an excuse to not take pride in God's sanctuary. I mean if we go all out in lovingly decorating our own homes for the season we should want God's house to look festively arrayed as well. But even if our decorations fall short of inspiring what matters most, when all is said and done, is the presence of God felt and experienced as we weekly gather together like the robbed Whos of Whoville to worship and welcome “heart to heart and hand in hand.” That's the kind of glory that remains long after the Advent season is past and our partially lit Christmas tree is put away. I still hope for the day that we can replace the carpet in the sanctuary and upgrade our facility a notch or two. But in the meantime I'll settle for some of that Shekinah to continue to transform our fellowship into something that truly honors the God we love and worship and comes near to us at Christmas.