What is Truth? Pt 1

Didn’t I want to know the truth? I looked at her and out of my mouth came the words, “Truth is a Person”. She was stunned at my response, so was I.

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Pilate asked Jesus, “What is Truth?”  Has a more cynical question ever been asked? Pilate is a politician, a governor in Judaea, a troublesome assignment with a difficult people. In this rugged barren wilderness, he is the voice and arm of Rome, the occupier. Rome is a hierarchy of lords and over-lords. The realms of power spawn corruption, lies, greed, flattery and betrayal. People say one thing and do another. Motives are hidden, politeness is forced. Everybody wants something. With constant maneuvering and positioning to be close to the seats of power, who can be trusted? Who is genuine? Who is humble? Who has no self-interest? Who tells the truth?

Israel is the land of The One True God, how different it is from the pantheon of Roman and Greek gods and goddesses. How distinct from the idolatry of the surrounding nations. How foolish from Rome’s point of view, they seemed to think all of this world is the sole responsibility of one God. With a fierce loyalty to the laws of Moses their prophet and Jewish custom, Jews held a deep disdain for the goyim who now soiled their sacred land. The House of Israel was a burdensome brood. Their food was weird. Their customs odd. The Romans were bacon eating dogs. They had no love for each other.

The Jews awaited the Messiah, their King, a promise that had echoed through the generations from Abraham on. But even from the Beginning, God had promised to undo the work of the serpent.  Messiah would unseat earthly power and restore the Glory of Israel to the Nations.

That morning the high priest and Jewish leaders came to roust Pilate but would not step foot into the Roman palace for fear they would be unclean, unfit to eat the coming passover meal. The Roman palace was unsuitable, a dog house. Pilate was known for brutality. He had mixed the blood of some executed Galilean prisoners with the Jewish sacrifice. Now the Jewish leaders demanded Pilate meet them outside the palace. It was urgent.

The high priest’s entourage made quick complaint, brought accusation and demanded execution. What an annoyance. What a rebellious troublesome lot. They were seeking the execution of the “King of the Jews”, the would-be Messiah.  Rome already had a partner in Israel who was tetrach, Herod. No doubt news of Jesus’ activities had reached Pilate’s ears. Tales of healing and miracles spread quickly. Powers that be pay attention to large gathering multitudes because they can become rebellions and insurrections. Now before Pilate, stood Jesus, accused of making himself the King of the Jews.

Pilate found no real fault in Jesus and even offered to release Him, an act of mercy. Even Pilate’s wife had a bad feeling about this. She knew He was an innocent man.  Jesus gave no real defense other than His Kingdom was not of this world or His followers would have fought His arrest. Jesus had miraculously healed Malchus the one guard who was wounded by Peter’s sword during the arrest. Jesus told Peter to put down his sword. The prophet had foretold, “as a sheep is silent before it’s shearers so He would open not His mouth.” This rebel was laying down His life.

“What is Truth?” Truth was standing before Pilate. Pilate did not recognize it. Few did. Truth was a person. Truth was Jesus. He claimed to be the Truth, not just a container, not just a purveyor.

This reality came to me in a shocking way. I like to talk to Jehovah’s Witnesses. Sometimes. One time in particular was not a good day. I was annoyed at their bad timing. A sweet older lady came to the door and started talking to me.  I had to go somewhere. I told her I could not talk now and she insisted that nothing was more important than the truth and she was trying to share it with me. Didn’t I want to know the truth? I looked at her and out of my mouth came the words, “Truth is a Person”. She was stunned at my response, so was I. We looked at each other for a quiet moment. “Know Jesus and you will know the Truth”, I told her. “Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except though Him.” Jesus embodies everything there is to know about the Father. He is His Glory, His grace and Truth, His Word to us. Jesus is the face of God that Moses was not allowed to see. As John so wonderfully puts it,

‘We proclaim to you the One Who existed from the beginning, whom we have heard and seen. We saw Him with our own eyes and touched Him with our own hands. He is the Word of life. This One who is life itself was revealed to us, and we have seen Him. And now we testify and proclaim to you that He is the one Who is eternal life. He was with the Father, and then He was revealed to us. We proclaim to you what we ourselves have actually seen and heard so that you may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. We are writing these things so that you may fully share our joy.’

The Pharisees (conservative religious leaders of Jesus’ time)  were concerned about truth. They were the children of Abraham, they followed the Law of Moses. They looked for the advent of the Messiah and believed in the Torah, the Law and the Prophets and clung to the promise of His arrival. They attempted to remain pure and clean in their ceremonial life. They were pious. They believed in the resurrection. In contrast, the Sadducees (liberal religious leaders of Jesus’ time)  did not believe in the resurrection nor the complete inspiration of the scriptures. Both the Pharisees’ and Sadducees’ ideas of the Messiah looked very different from who Jesus was. Jesus did not bear their image. The Jewish scribes, lawyers, religious leaders tested Jesus, pressed Him for answers, tried to trick Him into damnable testimony. Called Him the devil, a glutton, a drunk, a bastard, a friend of sinners. They conspired to put Him away, to even kill him for the sake of the prolonged safety of their nation under Rome.

Jesus confronted the leaders with their unbelief and their rejection of Himself and in turn their rejection of the Father, because the Father had sent Jesus. He told them,

“You search the Scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life; and these are they which testify of Me. But you are not willing to come to Me that you may have life.” 

What a sad conclusion: rejection of the long awaited One, the Messiah, the fulfillment of God’s promise. Jesus had lived, demonstrated and proclaimed truth before their very eyes. Yet they rejected Him.  And eventually, they made a deal with Judas to betray Jesus with a kiss. Called Him the sinner. Called Him the liar. Rejecting Jesus, they rejected the Father who sent Him.

Now before Pilate stood Truth. Pilate washed his hands, not his problem. The people called for crucifixion and said, “His blood be upon us and our children.”  Pilate sent Him away to be scourged and crucified as the mob cried out.

Jesus had promised “If you abide in My word, you are My disciples indeed. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” He spoke and taught, His words were for our abode, the word of truth, words of eternal life. To know Him is eternal life. Jesus is the Word of Life, the Word become flesh, the very truth that sets free the humble hearted, the truth that Pilate and proud hearted would not see.

When the Scrapper Becomes a Contender

The thing is, Gene was gruff, an ex-marine. He had the nickname Genie-boy and he had a reputation in his younger years of being a scrapper, a fighter, a drinker. Some of his life long friends would not let him escape that past even though his new life in Jesus and lifestyle was quite evident.

I have been pastoring the LCO Church of Love and Compassion (CLC) for 11 years now. I never intended to pastor this church. In 1993, I met Gene and Grace Thompson on a subzero december night at the youth Center in New Post. Gene was the pastor of the LCO Church of Love and Compassion.

Island Breeze, a YWAM ministry made up of Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders had sent a small advance team to make arrangements for an upcoming Impact World Tour. Being involved with the planning, we asked them to come to the rez and spend time with the kids that gathered with us. They agreed. The night was filled with beautiful Hawaiian and Pacific music and dances. Stories about their Islands and how the message of Jesus had come to their lives filled the evening. Our kids were drawn to their sweetness and impacted by the common experiences of their tribal life. The evening finale was a fire dance outside in the -17° air barefoot on the pavement twirling two flaming batons and finally throwing the last one in the air and catching it with his teeth. Everyone was amazed.

Beautiful connections were made that evening. A peace and presence of God’s spirit filled the night. A young Polynesian wife with a small baby began talking to our girls asking them about their lives, sharing about their own and speaking into theirs. She had such poise and dignity. The girls were drawn to her gentle spirit. Our boys were in awe of the masculine Polynesian men dancing with gentleness, confidence and joy. Henry the fire dancer let the boys try the (extinguished) batons.

Prov 16:28 A perverse man spreads strife, and a slanderer separates intimate friends.

I sat down and introduced myself to Gene and Grace and that began a friendship that would redirect my life and the course of ministry in LCO. I had heard of Gene and Grace from acquaintances. Unfortunately, what I heard had been slanderous words and stories by others who either did not know the truth or did not care to know. But as we had only been on the rez for two years, we were still quite newbies, second year rookies. I did not know what was true what was not. We hit it off right away. But those voices left me cautious.

Gene was a LCO tribal member. He grew up in Whitefish. His grandfather was a chief and carried the chief drum. It was stored under Gene’s bed as a boy. He had learned all the old songs and could still sing them. I got to hear one or two on occasions. As a young person, he spoke Anishinabemowin, the Ojibwe Language. Raised by his grandma who did not speak english, he grew up. As a young man he encountered the pitfalls that seem to so easily find any of us. He went off to find work. He found women and alcohol and eventually had two children of his own.

Gene and Grace sat at a table in the back of the youth center and observed everything that took place. They were delighted and moved by the power of God’s presence that evening. We talked. The Church of Love and Compassion was set back in the woods. One of our team members had noticed it after the summer leaves had fallen. The little church became visible from the road for the first time. Driving by one day Kirsti noticed the building. She attended some services. She was our connection and invited Gene and Grace to come to the event. By this time in our LCO experience, we were ready for the next step, desiring a more permanent presence and to be attached to a covering of local ministry. The Lord had opened doors for us after three years on the rez. The property that would eventually become Discovery bordered the church land. Everything seemed to be coming together.

I learned the CLC building had been built that previous summer by a Foursquare pastor and church from Modesto, CA. The shell was up but completely unfinished inside, no insulation, no wiring, no flooring, no drywall. The opportunity to get to know Gene was obvious. I offered to work on the building. Two or three times a week through that winter and spring, I would meet Gene at the church building to work. Gene could not do much, he had COPD from many years of smoking and a bad back for which he received disability. We would talk and chat and every time I worked we went for lunch to the Club Cafe and had coffee and a burger. (As years went by we called it Gene’s office. We would talk. I would listen. We laughed. Gene could tell a story. Grace would occasionally join us and she could talk up a storm. As the winter and spring passed I became satisfied that the slanderous things I had heard were just that. I learned their story from their own mouths and in their own words. I never told them the things I heard. They knew what people said but we had become close friends. With that came trust.

As summer approached, I had not yet attended their service. We decided to try a week long Bible club that summer and that was the beginning of a ministry partnership. Eventually I began leading worship for the services and weekly bible studies. My goal and posture with Gene was to come along side of him and serve he and Grace and their ministry. I did not want to lead. Gene was a strong man, a good teacher and had a heart of deep compassion and a strong desire to see his own people know Jesus. He was my man of peace in the LCO community.

The thing is, Gene was gruff, an ex-marine. He had the nickname Genie-boy and he had a reputation in his younger years of being a scrapper, a fighter, a drinker. Some of his life long friends would not let him escape that past even though his new life in Jesus and lifestyle was quite evident. Some thought perhaps he pulled off the ultimate scam. A preacher.

He told a story of his early walk with the Lord. He was attending Flowing Faith church, a little church south of Whitefish started and maintained by sister Dorothy who had come to LCO as a missionary in the 1930’s. Sitting in the sanctuary one morning before service to read and pray, some little kids were running around the sanctuary. For this ex-marine, this was bad. He was complaining to the Lord and getting mad. They were disturbing his time. As he sat in the sanctuary stewing, he had a kind of a vision. A puff of smoke rose up from the floor and made a letter, then another and another until the smoke signals spelled “g-r-u-f-f”. Point taken. Gene knew the Lord was not happy with his attitude. Gene said he began to cry and repent. The Lord told him he was gruff. Even so, to my daughter Jaynee, he was grandpa Gene. He loved her. She delighted his heart. Her antics and little daredevil heart made him laugh and chuckle. That was the teddy bear side of Gene, as his wife Grace always reminded, that was who he was deep down.

Prior to Gene’s disability he operated the road grader on the rez. He built roads, fire lanes, driveways, parking lots. He made ways though the forrest and connected communities. He was the same in his spiritual life. Gene was a man of prayer. He knew how to pray and when he prayed I felt like heaven had been touched. He was a man of intercession. Just as he had cut roads into the wilderness with his grader, he made in-roads into the spiritual climate of Lac Courte Oreilles through his prayers. I saw this gruff scrapper weep many times for his people. Jesus had transformed Genie-boy the scrapper into a heavy weight contender. A man of faith.

It saddens me that some people did not recognize that side of Gene. We saw each other almost everyday. He would pull up to the house in his old Dodge pick up or his old Lincoln and we’d sit around and talk. I would stop in at Club Cafe, Gene’s office, and drink coffee and chat. He would sit with his coffee and stir it with a spoon though there was no sugar or cream, he just stirred. He told stories about the marines, driving the moving van around the country, culinary school, being a butcher. Stories and more stories. Sometimes I wondered how he could have possibly done all those things. I officiated his funeral and as I looked at the pictures I saw all the stories come to life. Gene with his cooks. Gene with his Van Lines semi. I laughed because I realized those were actually true stories.

Gene’s last few years were spent in and out of the hospitals and nursing homes as his lungs gave out. COPD, acute bronchitis, pneumonia, took their toll. Amazingly time and time again he pulled through. Always a fighter. He believed the Lord had more for him to do. Gene was a hunter. He loved venison. One time in the nursing home, Pam made him some venison stew. I took it to him and as he sat on the edge of his bed eating, he began to cry. He missed home cooked food. He missed his deer meat. Our last christmas celebration at Love and Compassion before he passed, I gave him a couple of venison back straps. He cooked them for our Christmas meal. That was a special meal , he cooked that meat with all his heart. That was one of the last times he was with us to celebrate and worship together.

One June night around 2 or 3 in the morning, I got a call from Grace. She was sobbing. Gene had passed in the night. We knew it was coming. I had seen him earlier that day. He had seemed a little agitated but ok. A little confused, but certainly not ready to pass. It is always hard to say good bye to a friend, a mentor, a teacher. Without an oxygen mask his O2 blood levels would drop to the 60 percentages and even lower. He struggled to breathe. It wore him out. To breathe was a labor. In preparing for his funeral I realized that in a moment in the twinkling of an eye, Gene passed from struggle and sickness to the deepest freshest and most joyous breath ever. He was home with his Lord.

2 Tim 4: 7- 8 I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful. And now the prize awaits me—the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on the day of his return. And the prize is not just for me but for all who eagerly look forward to his appearing.

A year later, I took up the mantle he had left behind…

Death Swallowed Up by Life

img_2787We are created to live. Created for life. God’s breath of life filled the nostrils of Adam’s clay form and he became a living soul. 

I am writing from the hospital room of my mother-in-law, Oma. Diagnosed with leukemia last summer and originally given only 4 weeks to live, her journey has been quite extraordinary to me. Her will to live and hope for healing reveal a depth of strength that is not just generational. Her generation learned to live, survive and flourish with next to nothing. She grew up in the hills of old Kentucky. Dug coal out of rock to heat and cook, fished with dynamite, raised animals for slaughter, and grew her own food. Her own mom died when she was a young girl.  She and her sisters became the house keepers, cooks, farmers, producers for the brothers and dad. She worked with her hands and made a life for herself and her family.

A certain generation of our parents and grandparents seem to have that fortitude. Maybe it is the depression/war era that demanded such strength. I think it goes beyond that. I hear the stories of older generations in the Ojibwe community, the ability to live off the land, survive centuries of winters, subzero temperatures, hunt, fish, gather, build shelters, flourish in harsh conditions. No wind chill worries. No heat index warnings. Now-a-days it seems like we need special instructions if the temperature is 20° but feels like 0°. Or if the sun is shining, be careful cutting your grass, don’t over exert, stay hydrated. What would we do with out those survival tips? Ok- got my pet peeve “wind chill thing” out of the way. I can move on now. I guess if some day I die of over-exposure it will be a just irony.

John 1:4-5  The Word gave life to everything that was created and His life brought light to everyone.  The light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never extinguish it.

We are sitting with Oma. Waiting. Her breath is growing shallow. Listening to the fading rhythms of her breathing. Counting breaths. Waiting for the inevitable. We finally had to consent to morphine. She has been agitated, delirious and untrusting of the nurses and doctors and the constant medications. She and Warnie never took aspirin or Tylenol or antibiotics. They toughed out the flu, the cold. So even to have her take a Tylenol for her back pain took a half day of reassurance that we are not going to let anyone hurt her. Fluid is filling in her lungs so she struggles to breathe. She panics and tries to get out of bed but she does not have the strength to do so. She cries for help, but we can’t…

Over the last 10 years death has become too common around me. I watched my grandmother and Pete die in 2010 and my mother in 2012.  As a pastor and a friend I have been in hospital rooms of friends and their families as they took their last breaths. Watching Oma, thinking of my mom, it is so apparent that life wants to win. Death does not become us. The breath of life inspires our clay and water bodies. We are more than chemicals and electrical impulses. We are the creation of God, His handiwork. Life was His intention. Reflecting His glory was our purpose. Death, the unfortunate consequence of not trusting the Giver of Life has marred all of us and is inevitable though a temporary state.

Gene was my good friend and pastored the church I now pastor. He suffered from COPD. At the end it took more energy to breathe than what his breath could give him in return. He passed struggling for oxygen, struggling to breathe deep enough to satisfy his tired body. His funeral was my first to officiate. Two things struck me in preparing for that day. First, the grave is not our final resting spot and second, in a moment of time Gene passed from the ruthless labor of breathing to the presence of Jesus with the freshest most  reinvigorating breath imaginable. Love realized. Burdens gone. The grave conquered. Death swallowed up. No more sting, no more pain, no more fear and doubt. All of our hope and faith and love realized face to face in the presence of our Maker, the one whose Breath of Life made that moment possible. This will be true for each of us too.

1 Corinthians 15:25-26  For Christ must reign until he humbles all his enemies beneath his feet.  And the last enemy to be destroyed is death. 

Jesus’ life, death and resurrection was multi-faceted. Gathering together the poor, the infirmed, the captives, He demonstrated authority over sin and its effects, healing and casting out demons. He overcame the power of death raising Lazarus, the widow’s son and Jairus’ daughter. The power of the grave broke when He walked back out of his tomb and ascended to the Father. The Holy Spirit at Pentecost becomes the guarantee that what Jesus began will one day be completed.  At the last and final judgement. The sea, death and the grave give up their dead for judgement. Death and the grave are throne into the Lake of Fire. No more power.

Rev 20:14 Then death and the grave were thrown into the lake of fire. This lake of fire is the second death.

Immediately descending from Heaven is the New Heaven and New Earth. The Lord’s new creation begins. Our joy and journey is complete. I don’t know what all goes on for eternity, I don’t need to. God is with us, that’s pretty exciting to me.

Rev 21:1-5   Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”  And the one sitting on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new!”

When I started writing this blog Oma was still with us. While writing and thinking about these things her breathing again changed. Pam, Jaynee and I sat around her, held her hand and listened as her breathing slowed and then paused, quieter and slower, then stopped. Peacefully she passed into what I can only begin to imagine. Joy unspeakable. Love unfathomable. Present with The Lord.

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Below is a song I wrote at my grandmas passing in 2010. Her passing was peaceful and beautiful. The song though is about the way some people process death, mainly the regrets, the things left unsaid. Her peaceful death while family gathered around her was unlike what I wrote about in the song. I was stunned by the beauty of her passing it was so unlike other times I had experienced or observed. The song does not resolve the issue at hand but hopefully serves to identify the need to keep our relationships current and good. Walk in forgiveness. Remain in love or the regrets may “color you”.

Color You

The Art of Change

They could not just stand against something, they had to offer an alternative…

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O people, the Lord has told you what is good,
    and this is what he requires of you:
to do what is right, to love mercy,
    and to walk humbly with your God.        Micah 6:8

A friend posted on Facebook today asking the question, “Why do some people think it’s wrong to protest?” She is a protester of many causes, passionate for sure. Misguided me thinks, but passionate.

My background in protesting is small and limited. In the late 80’s Operation Rescue and other groups had taken to protesting in front of abortion clinics. Operation Rescue (OR) would go as far as chaining themselves to doors and each other to block the entrances to prevent the murder of a child and the exploitation of a mother who is usually in a bad place or in difficult circumstances and may feel this is her only way out or her last option.

At one particular event we were in Appleton, WI. at an abortion clinic just outside of town. OR people had blocked any of the doorways they could. Media were there. A large number of people were walking and praying, some carrying signs. The protest was peaceful but passionate, walking around in a circle on the road in front of the clinic. This was my first encounter with Charismatic Catholics. They prayed the Our Fathers and Hail Marys with vigor, enthusiasm and volume. They believed in saving the precious life of a child and protecting the mother from the guilt and grief she would likely encounter in the days that followed.

Next door to the clinic was a house. My friends Mike and Colleen had lived in that house. Other pro-life people had lived in that house. It served as one last opportunity for a mother to change her mind. A rescue. My friends lived there for a period of time and little by little it wore them out and tore them down. Depression set in. Words they expressed were “living next to a death camp.” The darkness, the heaviness finally forced them to move. The question was, “what can we do to make a difference?”

Out of the pain of watching girls, young ladies and women coming and going day after day, a light shined. They moved to Wild Rose, WI., and born was a ministry and a house called Beth-birei, Hebrew for House of the Creative One. They could not just stand against something, they had to offer an alternative, a house for unwed or at risk mothers, a house where a scared young lady could find help, housing, resources, caring people and education for parenting, even opportunities to adopt out a baby if so desired, and a Christian witness.

At the time of this protest march I was living and working at Beth-birei doing maintenance, helping as an administrative assistant, driving clients around, leading devotions, being a friend. This was my first full-time ministry experience and I knew the Lord had directed me there. By then Beth-berei had moved to Wisconsin Rapids where I was a part a local house church plant.  Seven years earlier I had prayed a prayer of salvation in Mike and Colleen’s living room in Oshkosh WI., where they ran a group home for girls. I had been invited to their home fellowship.

As we were praying at the clinic, I noticed a young lady walking toward the clinic from a long way off. Cars were parked along  the ditch a quarter mile or more. I watched as she approached. She avoided us and walked to a side door and went in. I began to pray for her and her baby. I prayed she would not go through with the abortion. After a little while she came out the same door, walked across the yard to the road. I decided to talk to her. I walked over, she did not look at me. Walking a short distance with her I asked if she was Ok. She looked me in the eye briefly and nodded her head. “OK” I replied. I do not remember saying anything more. I turned around.

I had walked with her a far enough distance that I got to see the whole picture of what was before me. I saw the house and clinic, the circle of people praying and weeping, the mass of bodies chained together, cameras filming for the evening news and police trying to unhook people and clear them away.

My heart was heavy, sad, weepy. I was overwhelmed. I asked the Lord something to the effect, how can we stop this. I heard the Lord say, “abortion won’t stop until the hearts of people change.” I was listening. Then He said, “My Gospel will change the hearts of people. Take my Gospel to them.”

Lightbulb on! What a simple reality. A spark ignited my heart. My life transformed. I understood “the what” of God’s call. A journey began at that moment, and I have not looked back. Inspired I started street evangelism in our little town with others in the church, kids and adults alike. The hunger and desire to walk in this call eventually led me to Youth With a Mission. But that is another story. Jesus transforms our hearts and that will reform our lives. Change will happen.

That was the last time I was at a protest.

 

A friend encouraged me to add some of my music to my blog…so here it is

The Purpose

The challenge is to recognize His voice, His fingerprints, His orchestration, His glory in the everyday, in the mundane, in the closets, cellars and attics of life.

I think about a lot of things week to week. As I prepare teachings for our Saturday night gathering at the Church of Love and Compassion or our weekly Stepping Stones discipleship course, I am inspired  with thoughts that may not fit the context of the particular gathering. That’s when I think, I should write a blog to set these thoughts free. Maybe it is my own self-delusion to think my thoughts are worth publishing, but on the other hand, maybe not.

I have chosen to title my blog The Calling Near. Years ago when I first started my journey with YWAM, I had a newsletter called The Paraklesis,  it is the greek word for exhortation. Nicely translated it reads as calling near.  As the years went by I changed the name of our newsletter to The Calling Near. Now this blog will be an extension of our newsletter. The thought of  a calling near grabs my heart, summing up my greatest desire in life: to draw near to the Living God. Even more, to be exhorted, to be called near to Him.

The Lord speaks in many ways. The challenge is to recognize His voice, His fingerprints, His orchestration, His glory in the every day, in the mundane, in the closets, cellars and attics of life. No place is devoid of His presence, so my conclusion is that He is everywhere. And if He is everywhere? He is findable, knowable, recognizable, searchable and has something to say.

John 1:18 : No one has ever seen God. But the One and only Son [Jesus], who is himself God, is near to the Father’s heart. He has revealed God to us.”  

Throughout the Scriptures Jesus is referred to as the Word of God. The greek for Word here is  Logos meaning  Jesus is God’s ultimate statement concerning the entirety of God’s character and nature, His plan and purpose. He is God’s Logos:

John 1:1-4 In the beginning the Word (logos) already existed. The Word was with God and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through Him, and nothing was created except through Him. The Word gave life to everything that was created, and His life brought light to everyone.

We still use the word logo today. We see golden arches we know it represents everything that is McDonalds; we see a swoosh we know it means Nike. We see Jesus and we can know He is showing us the Father.

God told Moses neither he nor anyone could see His face and live.  Yet Jesus (Emmanuel, God With Us, The Logos of God) was knowable, touchable and accessible. Those around Him could look at His face and into His eyes and not be condemned, not die in His presence because of the multitudes of one’s own sins. On the contrary they were drawn to the love and mercy, the grace and truth of God that melted hardness of heart, that healed sickness of body, soul and spirit and delivered them from death and even the grave.

Jesus told Phillip if you have seen me you have seen the Father. The Word (Logos) of God became flesh and pitched His tent, built His house, made His wigwam with us. He moved into the neighborhood, into the village to be close to us. To be known. Because He came near, we can draw near. He invites us to Himself and shows us the Father, The Creator of All. He has something to say…

So this is my purpose for a blog, to share my thoughts and experiences for what it is worth. I hope they will bless you.