As I write this, I am putting finishing touches on one of the most ambitious projects I have ever attempted. I am setting the book of Romans to music. Fortunately, perhaps, I did not stop to fully calculate what I was intending to accomplish. Now, at the end, I have taken time to do so. Romans is composed of 433 verses

To quote “Eleanor Rigby”, it was a face that I “keep in a jar by the door”. Definitely not my usual way of appearing. I was between schools and seeking work. So I took up substitute teaching.

It’s been over 35 years since he spoke the words to me. At the time, I was interning in my church; nearly finished with seminary. My supervising pastor, although a wonderful overall support to me, was not one to dish out many compliments. On this particular day, however, when the subject of my sermon the previous week came up, he said to me, “Your sermon was one of the most significant ones preached here in a while.”

“Stop it, George”, cried Mary, as she felt her date’s hands beginning to grope her body in places she had not consented to be touched.. “Now, Mary, you know you want it,” said George in a soothing tone, “Besides, you’ve been egging me on and now you want to stop?!”

      “Please ma’am,” I said, “I’m looking for cardboard to buy,” as the back lab door swung open at the hospital. I was picking up cardboard from the lab, as I do when running the garbage detail. It was a silly, impulsive joke, told to a busy woman, but she quickly replied, “I’ll sell it to you for a dollar a box”.

Joe felt bad about it, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He just didn’t care for the pastor. It wasn’t personal. The minister seemed to be a nice, sincere guy who worked hard. Others loved him, but he just wasn’t Joe’s cup of tea. The brother didn’t want to cause trouble or dissension and even prayed for the man and his ministry. But that sense of dissatisfaction lingered. He wasn’t sure what to do about it.

       “Has this church turned into the Gestapo?” the woman said to me with disgust in her voice. She referred to the messy process our church (not my current one) was going through at the moment; as we tried to figure out if a church member had committed a serious sin and was unrepentant about it. We leaders were trying to intervene.

        Bill closed his Bible with a sigh. He’d just read a passage out of Judges, said a prayer with “the right” elements in in it (praise, confession, intercession, etc.) and now was done with his devotional time for Monday. But what had he accomplished?  It had been a long, boring fifteen minutes. He’d felt no spiritual boost nor gained fresh insights.  His prayers seemed to bounce off of the ceiling; like he was just talking to himself.

          “I think I’m going to look for another church”, sighed the pastor. He was a middle-aged man who’d been in the ministry for many years, not some young upstart from seminary. His reason for leaving was not new. He had, in fact, faced it a number of times, and was just tired of dealing with it, especially in a small, fading church which probably was on its way out anyway. It didn’t seem worth the hassle.

   How do you feel when the song-leader says, from the pulpit, “I’d like you to turn in your hymnals to hymn number. . .” (fill in the blank)? Do you do it eagerly? Do you do it without thinking? Do you do it at all? There was a man in our congregation, a number of years ago, a sweet godly man, by the way, who hated hymns. “Why should we be singing songs that were written hundreds of years ago?” he’d say. “Let’s sing the music of today!” Do you agree with him?     

The man was obviously frustrated. “If God would just tell me what to do!” he exclaimed, “I’m not hearing anything from Him.” Ever have that feeling? I’ve had it. Many of us desperately want to dialogue with God, to know His will, to hear Him actually speak to us, but experience this seldom, if ever. A few, on the other hand, seem to have a pipeline into the throne-room. “God told me this,” they confidently proclaim, or “God told me that.” Or, in the case of some leaders: “God is telling us that this is what we’re supposed to do.”

I sometimes ask my adult Sunday School or youth group classes: “How many of you read your Bibles this week?” To those who answer positively, I follow up with; “What did you read and what did you learn?” My hope is that these questions will furnish answers that take us a while to discuss – after all, it’s their personal reading during the week which usually makes the most impact on their lives, not the Sunday morning sermon.

            Many years ago, I attended a seminar sponsored by a well-known church growth expert  He was impressive; filled with facts and ideas about how, in our current culture, to help a church grow; skillful at communicating them. Over the last fifty years the church has experienced tons of the latest church growth ideas; everything from seeker-sensitive services, to purpose-driven churches to missional churches etc. And most of these programs made sense in various ways and seemed promising.  

He’s getting old and it shows. Occasionally he falls. His memory is failing. The end of life is not always “the golden years” we’ve been told it would be (or has been shown to be in magazine pictures). This once strong, hard-working, intelligent man is a shadow of his former self. And yet those who meet him still often walk away with a bit of wonder in in their hearts. One aspect he has not lost, over the years is the sweet gentleness which oozes from him; seemingly effortlessly. He was gentle even in the prime of his life.  His grandchildren almost idolize him.

The young man, a believer, was having trouble handling the temptation of pornography. During moments of stress or unhappiness he found it incredibly hard not to turn on his phone and click on a few arousing pictures. In the past, he’d had an addiction to it. Maybe this describes you or another of our readers or listeners.

       “I don’t care about getting rewards,” said my friend, “I’m just grateful to be going to heaven.” This wasn’t uttered in a showy, “spiritual” way, or as a condemnation to anyone else. It was put forth in a humble, grateful manner. I remember being impressed and intrigued by his perspective.

I hear that their marriage isn’t going so well, lately,” commented Sherry
            “I wouldn’t doubt it,” replied Grace, “look at their faces when they walk into church on Sunday morning, they’re not exactly beaming at each other.”
            “It’s been going on for a while from what I hear,” added Sherry with a serious look on her face. “But I understand. I wouldn’t want to be married to him either. He’s got issues.”

    Can I be open with you? The Christian life hurts. I’ve often found that puzzling. After all, God has “blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ” (Eph. 1) and has “given us his very great and precious promises” (2 Peter 1) and so on. I’m a child of God, born again, strengthened by the Spirit, and headed for eternal bliss with Christ. Yet, even knowing all this, the Christian life still hurts. Sometimes a lot. And I haven’t even begun to encounter the suffering faced by so many believers. I enjoy a relatively privileged, safe life.

            One of the reasons that Sheila married Roger was that she admired the strength of his determination. He pushed back against obstacles and didn’t give up easily.  This gave her a sense of security and dependability.

            One aspect she hadn’t counted on, however, was that this also sometimes made him stubborn. Once he had his mind made up, it was hard to change. He could be inflexible. This maddened her at times.

Henri Nouwen, I believe, once said that we live in the myth of immortality. What I took from that was this: it feels as though what we’re doing today will go on forever. Logically, we know that’s not true, but it often seems that way. And it’s easy to live that way as well – as though the future will stretch on, as it is now, forever.