Golf

My golf game has become somewhat legendary, at least with those who have personally observed my skills on the course.  My golfing companions will often speak astonishing words of affirmation of my skills with phrases such as; “Great Scott! I have never actually watched someone hit a ball like that before!”,  “Wow! I did not think a ball could actually fly that far to the right!”, “Whoa! Are you really going to use your driver on the green?”, “Wait! Were you joking about having played this game before?”, along with many other compliments.  On one occasion, I actually decided to play my ball off of the back of a rogue sheep walking across the fairway and onto the green for an easy 5 putt. 

“Wow! I didn’t expect that to happen!” stated my dumbfounded partner for the day.

“Yeah, I know…most guys would try and play around the sheep, but I figured I might as well use the stray animal to my advantage.”

“What…you are saying you meant to do that?”

“Sure…it is all about the timing…I’ve done it before.”

“Really!? How many times have you had a sheep walk across the fairway in front of the green while golfing.”

“This was the first time.”

“…Huh…Wait…that doesn’t…never mind…”

On another occasion, I decided to impress my foursome by making a “trick shot” while teeing off on the first hole.  I swung as hard as I could…allowing my feet to slip, just as I hit the ball and landed flat on my back, staring at the sky.

“Whoa!...Ha…ha…ha…are you ok?” asked my 3 brothers in law, (my 3 companions for the day).

“Yeah…why do you ask? That was my ‘slip on my back side while hitting the ball’ trick shot.”

“Are you saying that you meant to do that?”

“Yeah…I do that all the time!”

Additionally, my golf legacy has been observed in various golf tournaments that I have participated in, most of which were “best ball golf scrambles.”  These tournaments suit me well as they give me the freedom to be creative with my shots, without the pressures of actually having to conform to the normal golfing routines and etiquette.

The premise behind “best ball” tournaments, is that each team member will play their ball from the exact same spot…and then the team collectively uses the ball that was the best shot.   The team will then continue this means of play until the ball lands in the hold.  Despite my creative golf game, my shots are rarely used in these tournaments.  In fact, my shots are ONLY used when the team is forced to use them because of the rules that require a minimum number of shots to be used from each team member.

Inevitably what this means is that my team is actually worse for having me as a part of the team.  Time and time again, anything that I had to offer…was actually a detriment to the score and to our team.  Ironically I have not been invited to participate in a golf tournament for nearly 10 years now…I guess the game of golf has not caught up to my extravagant play as of yet.

This reminds me of the Gospel. Just as I can add nothing to make my golf teams score any better, I cannot add anything to make the Gospel of Jesus Christ any better either.  The Gospel is perfect! It is amazing! It is grace! Yet, I often find myself trying to add to the Gospel by working to somehow earn it. 

Imagine, if you will, Jesus swinging a golf club. His game would be perfect.  Jesus gets an “ace” on every hole.  Will he ever need to use one of my shots? Will he ever need to use one of your shots? NO!! Yet…he WANTS us on his team!  He actually wants us, not because we make the Gospel better, but because the Gospel makes us justified, righteous, accepted.   We are made “right” before the Lord, not because we add anything to the Gospel, but because the Gospel adds grace to us! 

When I think of what Jesus has done for us at Easter, how he suffered, died, was buried, and rose again, I realize that I am undeserving.  Not only am I undeserving, but there is nothing that I can add to the Gospel that would make His work any better or any greater!

He is Jesus and HE is enough! The work of the Cross IS ENOUGH!

 The Curse

I remember as a child my parents told me that they had put a curse on me. “That’s doesn’t seem very nice," I thought. So I said, “That doesn't seem very nice.” Then I asked, “Why would you do that?”

“Because, we want you to know what it is like to have a child just like you.”

“That seems more like a blessing than I curse,” I replied.

At this point I continued to live my life just as I always had.  Each day I would wake just to torment my three siblings.  I would trick my older brother into doing my chores. I would push my little brother into a closet and hold the door closed until I grew tired of his screaming and kicking. I would continuously dunk my sister’s head underwater while she was trying to enjoy the swimming pool.  I came to believe that the family would not only be bored without me…they may not even be able to function. At this point in our childhood experience my three siblings only knew to say two phrases. “Ryan, stop! Ryan, stop!” or “Moaaoom! Make Ryan stop!”  How monotonous. What would they do without me?

I couldn’t wait to have children of my own.  I would often spend time envisioning how I would enslave them as I had been enslaved as a child.  Yet, I could also imagine the blessing that children that were just like me would bring not only into my family, but into the world.  My children could teach the world to laugh again, smile again and live again.”

The other night I was leading my family, including my four children, in the after supper clean up.  As we worked to do the dishes, clean the floors, wipe the surfaces, empty trash cans and take out the recycling, I began to hear faint frustrated cries.  It sounded almost like a ghostly chant coming from the basement.  “Issssaaaaccc! Stop!”

“Isaac Stop, Isaac Stop, Isaac, Stop!”  Three female voices continued the rebukes, buzzing like a hive of angry hornets.

“DAAAAADD! Make Isaac stop!”

“Isaac, get up here!” I bellowed.

“Yes father?” Isaac respectfully bequeathed.

“I hope you have a child just like you!” I insisted.

“Why thank you for such a blessing father!”

“It wasn’t a blessing…it was a curse.”

In Galatians 3:10-18, Paul begins to talk about a promise and a curse.  In fact, he begins to talk about the Law…the rules that GOD had given the Jews to live by...and he says that anyone who “lives by the Law us under a curse.” This seems crazy! How can this be? It just doesn’t seem to make sense! Doesn’t God want us to obey the Law?

I think what Paul is showing us is that the Law, CANNOT SAVE US! BUT! The PROMISE that God has given to us, is that when we believe in the Savior…in Jesus…like Abraham believed, we receive the amazing promise of salvation.  The Law cannot give us that promise…yet, God offers the promise to all who believe.

May we live by faith…and not by the curse!

 Michael

The story that you are about to read is true…the names have been changed to protect the innocent and possibly condemn the guilty.

I have long held to the value of learning people’s names and then calling them by those names. Over the years I have met thousands of people and still remember…some…of their names. Names are important. They not only identify who we are, but they also set in our minds points of reference for memories associated with the owners of these names. For example, I refused to name my son Glen. Glen was the bane of my elementary school years. When I think of totalitarian world leaders of destruction, I can’t help but think of specific names like Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin and Glen. Each day as I stepped onto the bus my eyes would scan the seats keenly for Glen. As it inevitably turned out, the only open seats were always around Glen and thus I was stuck sitting near him. By the end of the bus ride I would have spitballs stuck in my swollen ears reddened from the constant “tweeking” of Glen’s flicking fingers. Glen’s name is impossible to forget.

There are other names I try to remember and have worked hard to learn, including my neighbors. In fact, I have prided myself in the learning the names of all of my neighbor and loving them to the best of my ability. Each Christmas I write them a letter and deliver fresh cookies as an act of friendship and care. As neighbors we work to clear each other’s driveways of snow, help each other with our lawns and even on occasion remove trees from a neighbor’s lawn…sometimes on purpose.

I know my neighbors to the south, Laura and Nellie, and my neighbors to the east, Daryl and Stephanie. I have neighbors to the north, Paul and Leah, and many neighbors across the street to the west, Elizabeth, Tracy, Molly and Michael.  I have known Michael for years.

Each morning as I head out on my bicycle, I often see Michael walking their dog, an Alaskan Husky named Influenza. As I pass by Michael I am always intent on happily greet him by name, “Good morning Michael! Nice to see you!”

He would often reply back, “Good morning to you too Ryan.”

“Enjoy your day!”

“You too!”

It was just last month that I had parked my truck too close to the icy snow bank and found that as I tried to head off to work on a Monday morning I was stuck. The wheels were just spinning on the glare ice. Michael who was out walking Influenza came right over to help push as neighbors on our block often do. With the dog leash in one hand and the other on the rear tailgate he began to push. I rocked the truck back and forth shifting from forward to reverse, forward to reverse, while calling out, “Push Michael! Push! You can do it!”

“It would help if I had both hands.” He insisted.

“Push harder!” I cried, as I did the difficult work of pressing the accelerator and shifting the transmission back and forth. “Don’t quit! Keep pushing!”

“I’m trying!”

Michael pushed and I rocked…and finally we were able to launch the truck forward and as I drove off I called out the open window, “Thanks Michael, have a nice day!”

Just a week ago, I once again crossed paths with Michael. I stopped my bike and stood while he kept Influenza on a tight leash and we talked. Michael began to talk to me about deep things going on in his family’s lives.  It was hard to hear what his family had been with over the winter, but I listened as Michael talked…because that is what neighbors do…neighbors know each other.

After Michael had shared his heart with me, he said, “Ryan…one more thing.”

“Yeah, Michael…what’s that?”

“My name is Robert.”

...”  “….”What!?”…”Michael…are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“How did I come up with Michael?”

“I have no idea.”

That was awkward.

I was struck with three thoughts as I pedaled away from that encounter.

1.     * That was embarrassing.

2.     * How am I going to stop calling Michael…Michael?

3.    *  No matter what name I use with Michael…it doesn’t change his identity…he is still Robert, he always has been and always will be.

Galatians 3:1-14, reveals our true identity.  When we come to believe and accept the true grace of Jesus Christ we are identified by the Holy Spirit, which now lives in those who believe.  No one can take that identity away, yet some may try to convince us that we are identified by another name…like Michael.

May you come to find your true identity in Christ, by His grace and the gift of the Spirit living in you.

 Calvin

One summer, a mother and her two children moved into one of the quadriplex apartments to our south.  One of the children’s names was Calvin.  My own children knew Calvin and spoke of his harried history.  He had been in and out of juvenile centers, spent many hours in detention, and perhaps, was suspended more days than he was actually in school.  To put it simply, a “bad influence” appeared to have moved into the neighborhood. 

As the summer began Calvin would bike by and see our family outside playing catch with a football and he would stop and say, “Hi, Isaac,” (who he knew from school), “Can I play?”

I immediately spoke up, “Sure Calvin!”

There became a pattern.  Whenever Calvin saw us outside, he would stop and ask to participate.  Calvin joined us for backyard fires and s’mores, basketball in the driveway, biking up and down the street and skateboarding off of the curb.  It seemed, in fact, that nearly every time Calvin walked or biked by the front of our house, he would either stop, call out a greeting, or come up to the door and ring the doorbell. 

One thing that Calvin loved more than anything was fishing. Calvin would often bring his fishing rod over and he and Isaac would practice their casting in the yard.  One Christmas I found one of Calvin’s lure lodged into the shingles of the roof as I was putting up the Christmas lights.

One evening, I watched as Calvin was riding his bicycle home with a flat tire. 

“Calvin, what’s up?” I asked.

“Oh, my tire is flat.”

“Bring it here…I can hook you up.”

I quickly realized that both, Calvin’s tire and tube where shot from being ridden so long on the flat tire. I dug through my bin of extra bike parts and found a tube and a tire that would fit.  I had Calvin up and  running like new in just a few minutes. 

Ironically, it was the very next day that I saw Calvin struggling to hold his fishing pole while pushing his bike home with another flat tire. 

“Calvin, what’s going on?” I questioned.

“My fishing line got stuck in my bike hub…it’s all wrapped up around the wheel and my tire is all stuck like it’s locked up or something.”

I took a look at the bike and found that Calvin had not exaggerated and the tire was indeed locked in place, like a leech on a fishhook.  a kindergarten boy with a finger up his nose.  As Calvin had pushed his bike home, the locked tire had been skidding along the asphalt the entire way.  This created a 5 inch long gash in both the new tire and tube I had put on the previous day.  I went back to my bin and found another tire and tube.

As we were eating supper one night, our doorbell rang.  Sure enough, it was Calvin.

“Calvin, what’s shaking?” I asked, “Aside from your backpack,” which was indeed shaking. 

“Is Isaac home, I have something I want to show him?”

“Sure is.” I replied and called for my son.

When Isaac arrived at the door, Calvin excitedly pulled off his school backpack, set it at his feet and unzipped the top.  He then pulled out a wet, slimy, smallmouth bass with grammar and math worksheets stuck to the sides.

“Look what I caught!” He happily exclaimed!

“Wow! That is some fish!” Isaac affirmed.

“Yeah, how did your math assignment turn out there?” I asked.

“I don’t know…I haven’t turned it in yet.”

Finally, as summer was winding down, my wife was heading out for a walk and met Calvin’s mother, Beth.

“Are you Isaac’s mom?” Beth asked.

“Yes I am, and who might you be?”

“I’m Beth, Calvin’s mom.  I just want to say thank you! Thank you for welcoming Calvin.  Isaac is all that Calvin talks about and your family has been so kind to him.  He seems like a different kid since you have become involved in his life.”

Calvin was not the easiest kid to have patience with.  He often showed up at times when we wanted it to be just our family.  Our doorbell rang at times when we didn’t have the energy to engage, and I ran out of extra bicycle supplies. There were places that I often would have rather been, things that I would have rather had done and s’mores that I would have rather eaten myself. The Gospel of Grace, powered by love, frees us from sin, death and the law…also provides an obligation.  We are obligated to follow the truth of the Gospel. The Holy Spirit living in us always leads and presses us to that Truth.  That Truth is to offer grace and love to people…all people that the Lord brings into our lives.  The Gospel is offered to everyone…not just the people who are easy to love.  The gospel is not just for people like us, it is for everyone, even people who are nothing like us…the Calvin’s in our lives.

Calvin moved before that winter arrived, yet I hope that Calvin will always remember the right hand of fellowship that was offered to him that summer…not by the “Olsons” but in a way…by the giver of that gospel of grace…Jesus Christ.

May we come to see that we are obligated to stand for the Truth of the Gospel.   We are obligated to obey the Spirit that is in us...and the Truth of that Spirit is Love.

 Free to be Free

“You can’t tell me what to do, I am an adult now!” I boldly stated to my father. 

“I told you, I don’t want you going! It is not a good idea. My father retorted.

I felt anger build inside me and I listened to the oppressive demands of the tyrant I called, “Dad.”  I could imagine his tension building as well as I pictured his knuckles turning white from the increased clutching of the telephone.  I was 18 years and two months old and I was going to head out of town after closing down the gas station to watch a movie with my buddies.  I felt that I was being gracious to call my parents at all and tell them what I was doing.  However, the iron fist of fatherly rule was squelching my plans.  “Dad! I’m going and I have to go now! The last show starts at midnight and I am not going to make it if I wait!”

“Nothing good happens after midnight!”

“I don’t know about that…the movie is supposed to be really ‘good,’” I snidely remarked.

 “You are not going!”

“Yes, I am! You can’t stop me.”

“If you go, the locks on the doors will be changed when you get back.  If you want to be an adult…then you can go and be an adult.”

Ok…I guess he can stop me…I came home.

I thought that I was free, but in reality, I was still submissive to the rules instated by my parents.  Yet, I no longer live under their rule.  Now as a 46 year old I don’t even bother to ask…or even tell my parents if I am going to a movie.  I do occasionally ask them to fill my gas tank, or pay for my supper.  They are still my parents after all…I figure they owe me?

Freedom is a difficult concept.  As Americans we are free…we live in a free country, yet we are inundated with rules.  Thus, we linger in confusion with what freedom is.  At one point in Jesus’ ministry he says, “If the Son sets you free, then you are free indeed.” Paul writes at great length about freedom in the letter to the Galatians.  Galatians 5:1 states, that it is for “freedom that we have been set free,” and Galatians 2:1-10 reveals an astounding truth…we are FREE.  We are 100% set free! We are set free by the grace of Jesus Christ! Maybe it’s time that we really understand what this freedom is and the amazing grace that it reflects.

 The Call

Spring is on the way.  I look forward to being able to open the windows and let the fresh air, breeze through the home refreshing the stale air of winter.  One of my favorite aspects about spring is when I can leave the windows open, secretly, for the over night.  The crisp cool air is delightful to sleep in.  Each spring evening I crack the windows open secretly because my wife does not share my affinity for the cold air.  There is nothing like waking up to a cool fresh morning with the windows open…until…the crows begin to call.  “Caw, caw, caw, caw, caw, caw, cackle, caw…” I close the window answering their call with a cold hearted “NO.”

The nature of the “call” has changed dramatically with the advancement of technology.  In times past, a “call” may have begun with the heralding of a trumpet blast, followed by some royal instructions. Da da da dahhh…”here ye, here ye, the King would like to announce that fuel prices will increase by 150% over the next week or so!”  Such a call may be followed by boos and the throwing of rotten fruit.

I remember my first girlfriend, Monica.  She would frequently call me after school.  I would answer the phone, stretching the 25’ coiled cord to its limit which would just reach the top of basement stairs.  I would then close the door to have some privacy for our kindergarten conversation…which consisted primarily of…

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Good, what are you doing?”

“Talking to you.”

“Yeah, me to.”

Followed by 10 minutes of silent breathing.

Now a-days it is the exact same…only via texting.

In my early years of ministry I was commissioned to perform a wedding ceremony out of town.  I was the first to arrive at the church for the rehearsal and 30 minutes later the wedding party and family had not yet arrived.  Having no cell phone at the time I went to the phone on the wall and began to read the instructions as to how to make an outgoing call.  I failed several times before I slowed down and tried to accomplish each detailed task.

To make an outgoing call, press 9

I pressed 9

Followed by 1

I pressed 1

Then the number.

I began to enter the number…1-218-63…a voice began to speak to me, “911 what is your emergency.”

I panicked and quickly hung up the phone.

That was a mistake.  Now I had no way to call them back to explain my mistake, without again dialing 911. The wedding party now began to arrive as did the police cars.  The wall phone began to ring. I took a deep breath and answer the call.  I explicated my error to the tensely toned dispatcher. I then went and spoke to the officers.  “Could I see your ID please?” asked one officer while the other stood studying me with one hand on his radio and the other resting on his pistoled hip. 

“Sir, why is your face so read? Are you hiding something or are you just sunburned?” asked the pistoled hipped officer.

I was released to go about my work.

 “What was that about?” the groom to be inquired.

“Nothing.”

“Have you been in the sun?”

Whether we acknowledge it in our lives or not, I believe that there is a call on our lives.  I believe that God is calling.  The phone is ringing and he wants us to answer.  We are being “called,” not necessary to do…but to be.  We are being called by him, to be loved by him, to love him, AND to express that incredible love to others.  Jesus is calling, maybe it’s time…to just answer the call and say yes to the love of God expressed through Jesus Christ. Galatians 1:1, 11-24 reveals a powerful picture of how God calls Paul and how he is calling us. 

 Good Deed

 

As a child, I always wanted to be a Scout. Not just a small “s” scout, but a full-fledged capital “S” Scout.  During my elementary school years, I remember living in envy of all of my friends who were “Cub Scouts.”  I wished that I too had a navy blue shirt with the yellow handkerchief and the badges affixed on the chest and sleeves.  I could just envision all of my Cub Scout buddies gathering around campfires, roasting marshmallows and sleeping among the howls of wolves, hoots of owls and tents filled with mosquitoes. 

One day after school, I went to my friend Luke’s house.  Luke was everything that I was not, yet wished that I could be.  Luke was popular, athletic, dapper, smooth, and suave.  Luke had all of the girls swooning after him…and he was a Cub Scout.  I remember standing in his room admiring his pinewood derby cars.  There were two of them and each one stood next to a trophy.

 “Wow! Where did you get these cars and trophies?”

“Oh, they are from Cub Scouts.  We make the cars and then we race them. I won a couple of times.”

“Cool! What else do you do at Cub Scouts?”

“Oh I don’t know…stuff…we meet…learn to tie some knots and listen to some old guys talk.  Then, our den mothers usually bring milk and cookies for us to eat.”

“What! Wow! Milk and cookies?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounds really great! I wish I could be in Cub Scouts.”

When I returned home I implored my mother to allow me to join the scouting ranks, “Mom! Did you know that Luke is a Cub Scout? They have camp fires, and they race cars, and they tie knots, and they eat cookies! Do you think I could be in Cub Scouts?”

“Hmmm…that doesn’t sound very safe.  I don’t think that would be a good idea.  You shouldn’t be playing with fire and you don’t even have a license to drive.  Not to mention, I think that you just want to learn knots so that you can tie up your sister, and if you want a cookie, I think there is one left in the cookie jar…help yourself.”

I went to the jar and pondered which to take…the dried up chocolate chip cookie or the stale slice of bread.  I put the lid back on, opting for neither and resigned myself to living a scout-less life, yet my admiration of my scouting friends continued.

One spring afternoon, a group of my Cub Scout friends and I were gathered to play politically incorrect games like, cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians and duck, duck gray duck.  As we were gallivanting among the lilacs and dandelion infested lawns of the neighborhood, we observed an elderly woman crossing the street, struggling with two paper grocery bags.  Apparently, doing “good deeds” is a strong initiative of Scouts, which I was unaware of at the time.  I watched as Tom, Jon, Luke and Jay all bolted after the silver-haired civilian with their bows, arrows and guns still in hand.  The women’s feet quickened, and worry spread over her face as the pre-adolescent posse pursued this now frightened geriatric.  Just as she approached the opposite corner, the quartet ripped the bags from her hand spilling much of the contents.  The four of them scampered to gather the spilled items and place them back into the partially torn brown paper bags.  The foursome handed the bags back to the lady and jogged back to our side of the street where I stood waiting.

“There!” Tom exclaimed, “We did our good deed for the day!”

“Yeah! We will have to be sure to tell den mother, Betty, so we can get credit for our next badge!” Jay agreed.

“Hmmm...,” I considered, “I wish I could do a good deed.”

Good deeds are, indeed, good.  In fact they are fantastic.  However, what I have learned and have been challenged by is the “reason” for the deeds that I do.  It is human nature, I think, to believe that somehow, the deeds that I do will be credited to my future, eternal self.  We default to a belief that if I do good things, then I will earn God’s favor or special blessings from Him.  We tend to believe that the good deeds that we do will pay for the bad deeds that litter our past. Perhaps, we even believe that the good things that we do can erase our sins, pay penance, or restore our broken relationship with God. I have heard some people, even Christians, express the powers of karma arising to pay us back for our bad deeds.

This is NOT the Gospel.  There is only ONE Gospel and that Gospel is a Gospel of grace.  Paul speaks strongly to the churches in Galatia (and thus to all Christians), in Galatians 1:1-10 that there is only one Gospel and that Gospel is Jesus…Jesus period…and not Jesus plus anything.

May we come to trust in Jesus and His only Gospel.