"A Still Small Voice................"

A friend of mine passed away last week. He awoke from a night’s sleep, sat down in his living room chair, and, by the time his wife returned from the kitchen, he was gone. I knew him only as an acquaintance for close to thirty years and was a little surprised to discover he was but three years older than me, retired from a local industry, and deeper into ministry than I knew him to be. It was no secret his being an ordained Methodist minister, but how that calling was fulfilled in his life was indeed somewhat of a mystery to me…..

As far as I know, he never held a regular pastor’s position at any particular church. He and his wife actually attended our independent Pentecostal assembly for a few years; but, from what I gather, his denomination utilized him much in the sense of what used to be referred to as “circuit riders”. When nearby congregations would find themselves, for whatever the reason, without a shepherd, he would be sent to “span the gap”, meeting the spiritual needs of the people until the void was no longer there…..

This man wasn’t so much about doctrinal dogma as about being the Good Samaritan unto whomsoever; and that fact was never more so revealed than it was at his funeral. There is a Bob Evans restaurant just down the road have frequented almost daily since it first opened over a decade ago. We are not alone in such practice, my friend and his wife being part of the “family” that evolved along the way. Not only did the location send flowers, but nearly the entire staff was permitted time to go and express their heart-felt sorrow…..

Reverend Tom Van Auken, it seems, didn’t require neither padded pews nor pulpit to put his faith into a message received. The “flock” was wherever he found it; and he thought it no more than “what ought to be done” in making their hurts, their wounds, and their lives, his concern. One waitress spoke with me the other night, tears running down her face and her voice in a quiver, of his having walked with her through the loss of her daughter. She, being Catholic; he, simply a flow of the Holy Ghost sent from heaven…..

As with one, so with all. Testimony after testimony of one willing disciple’s witness put into a mission field no doubt over-looked by most. His example but reinforces my feelings concerning the rescue mission and the Youth Detention Center. Our monthly visits to both places need to be rooted and grounded in love, not some ego trip. It doesn’t take a 6-point, 45-minute, seminary breakdown of Scripture to share Christ with others. You just have to be willing to go through the door He sets in front of you…..

"Getting the Starch Out of It..................."

Beth and I will soon be leaving for Pensacola, enjoying a last-minute vacation escape before the school year begins, indeed, no more than an over-the-weekend visit with my pastor friend and his family. He has invited me to teach his adult Sunday school class while there and such bravery on his part has sent me into the depths of something similar to creating one of these posts. The difference is mainly in the finality of the affair. Here, once my thoughts have been “ironed out and put to paper”, the struggle has ended and the message is simply offered unto whomsoever for comment. Readers are left free to their own analysis, indeed to their right to go elsewhere if the first few sentences are not to their liking…..

In standing before others, however, and attempting to share where my brain has been, I have always found that merely reading material penned beforehand never “works for me”. Either I roam out into left field with no idea how to re-connect with the curriculum or, in presenting it verbatim, the life goes out of it. Experience has taught me, then, that while there’s no harm in creating a draft, when I step up to the plate, it, along with any spare change I’ve accumulated in the process, all gets tossed into a mental storage box for the Holy Ghost to extract as He so sees fit. My job is to relax, get in the flow, and allow Him to deliver the lesson. Should some item fail to come forth, I may question my humanity, but never His wisdom…..

When Christianity is boiled down to religion, when worship is no more than basking in our own glory, all that’s left is a dead church. Neither is divinity determined by how much noise you make. Whatever the activity, humility prepares the sacrifice, rejoices if it is accepted. In all things, He remains God…..

"Information, Por Favor......................."

Stationed just outside Washington, D.C. in 1966, I found the actual job, itself, to be the most boring ever assigned to me during a ten-year naval career. In an attempt to keep my mind from entering a state of atrophy, I enrolled in a correspondence course on cryptology, learning how to break various methods of encryption, all of which are, no doubt, no longer utilized this far down the road. What yet remains in my memory, however, is agonizing, sometimes for days, over apparently senseless arrangements of alphabet “gobbledy-gook”, trying to discover some grammatical key that would open the door. Somewhere in the struggle, though, always, a light bulb would eventually ignite, giving clarity to what had been staring me in the face the whole time……

Reading my Bible has been somewhat the same. Most certainly I do not say that in the sense that understanding it requires extracting every fifteenth character from the original Greek text in order to understand its message. The mystery is in its Author, in its Author now abiding in me, and in, through the relationship established, attempting to explain life as it comes to me. The Book, itself, remains a book. Often, there is that verse or passage which, even though it has been previously taken into my thoughts enough times to be memorized, enough times to have been captured in its meaning, now suddenly speaks to me in a new way. And there is a joy in that. A knowledge that there is life within its pages, a reason yet for my perusal, and a treasure yet to be mined…..

All this I speak that I might ask a technical question of whomsoever out there in Blogdom. With no offense taken at anyone utilizing such security measures, I remain puzzled by these verification requirements some attach to their sites demanding that a visitor please re-type a cleverly camouflaged group of letters before their comment will be accepted. It is beyond me what protection it gives or what purpose it serves other than to test this old man’s eyesight. If you do err somehow in your first transcription, you’re simply provided with yet another series to conquer and, eventually, success can be achieved. Am I missing something? Does an alarm go off on the other end while I’m wrestling with it, giving warning of my impending intrusion into sacred space?.....

Just wondering, here in the darkness, and needing a little light on the subject…..

"The Chief Caretaker......................"

My three oldest grandsons are now in their teens, two of that trio having just entered such hallowed ground this year and the youngest of that duo being an only child who has never known “family” in much sense other than mom and dad being nearby. Yesterday, splitting the distance somewhat, my daughter and I met in the middle of the hour or so that physically separates us and the young man returned with us for a rare five-day visit. His cousins, who live right next-door, were quite excited. They had an overnight stay at their house planned to kick things off. Steven was agreeable, even a bit enthused about the event; but shortly after midnight our phone rang to inform us the boys were coming over to sleep here. First day. Strange surroundings. You could tell he was a bit embarrassed as we all walked through the darkness across the yard to Grandma’s, so I shared with him my being in the Navy, age eighteen, sitting in Monterey, California, and so homesick tears ran down my face. Being connected to others via the heart, in my book, signifies neither “un-manliness” nor any lack regarding one’s approaching adulthood. Thank God for the tie that binds……

Is it out of our soul that such inner attachment is expressed? In the original Star Trek series, Spock, in following his ancestral teaching, valued logic to the surrendering of all emotions. Data, an android in the sequential version of the show, consistently pursued a hope to gain that which the Vulcan tried to avoid. That might make for good Sci-fi, but humanity remains as it was created. Within each of us there exists a void that cries out, not just to be filled, but to be completed. I preached for a long time that only God could meet that need, but at the moment I’m not so sure that He didn’t just build that emptiness into the design as a sort of “treasure chest”. We, ourselves, decide what goes in; and then God, rather than being a “plug for the hole”, is the missing element that helps us sort through all the heartache, hurt, and happiness we experience via the items gathered. Love, after all, is not always a choice we make, whether rooted in people or things. It just happens. Then it’s a matter of how much we surrender ourselves unto it and what life brings into it. Steven’s not yet all that far down the road, but a lot of prayer is invested into his progress. Thank God for grandchildren……

"The Rest of the Story............"

If my last post didn’t eliminate those few who visit here with any sort of frequency, this present attempt to explain such musings will probably “seal the deal”. Nonetheless, let it be known that, more than three decades ago, prior to my conversion and any real knowledge of “thus saith Scripture”, I once considered reincarnation to be a reasonable hope for anyone who might be pondering the certainty of death and the uncertainty of a possible continued existence somewhere. With a born-again experience, of course, came assurance of eternal life given us through knowledge of Christ, the Bible becoming a foundation for my faith; but that didn’t mean my brain saw itself as now holding all the answers…..

I would be less than honest if I didn’t admit to yet exploring this and other doctrinal issues on an almost daily basis, finding it but part of the package to wade into the muck and mire we’ve made of chapter and verse. I simply trust the Holy Ghost to keep a tight rein on the knot in my belly. If repetitive returning via multiple personalities is incompatible with the Word, is it then heresy to suggest that God, having never been dimensionally bound, just may be dealing with us through multiple time frames? It has often crossed my mind that perhaps, trapped beneath that floating dock on the Kentucky River during childhood years, struck and tossed by a taxi more than a hundred feet in my teens, I really did die…..

Sounds like the “Twilight Zone”, doesn’t it? All I really know is: God remains bigger than any definition we apply to Him; He is not limited to our interpretation of things; and Jesus doesn’t annul my membership in Christianity because of my weird inquisitive nature. He may laugh at me and shake His head as I realize such thinking only leads to more questions; but, so far, we retain a relationship. Does it exist in several different versions of who I am? Probably not. It’s pretty much a surety that, not only is one of me is too much for anybody, it’s also more than I seem to be able to keep in line. I gave up trying to figure me out way back there somewhere. The universe is another matter……

"Mastering the Matrix......................"

Ravi Zacharias is an apologist extraordinaire. I own several of his books and highly recommend his writing to anyone. Nonetheless, in my present perusal, I find myself questioning his approach to assigning Christianity exclusive status in the religious community regarding just who it is that possesses truth. In utilizing an “either/or” method for determining such declaration, it seems like he has over-stepped his own established perimeters of what it takes to arrive at such destination. After all, if the system works, why haven’t we, as believers, eliminated all disagreement among our numerous constituents of the faith and became solidified in a singular doctrine? No; it isn’t what we think we hold title to via a Book that isolates us, but rather He who is truth confirming His ownership of our heart. …..

Beth and I watched “Premonition”, Sandra Bullock’s latest, this afternoon. It takes the viewer into the uncharted depths of what the human brain might be able to achieve in terms of knowing the future. Not that Nostradamus, Jeanne Dixon, nor any other so-called prophet ever impressed me with their prognostications of future events. I have experienced deja-vu enough, though, to ponder whether Hebrews’ declaration of it being “appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment” actually means what I believe it to mean. Heresy? All I really know is: The same One who breathed those words into the mind that penned them, also breathed His holy Presence into me thirty-five years ago. He has proven that again and again; and I don’t have to chase “foorah” down the road. My future is in His hands…..

"Church as I See It........................."

He was there again last night at the rescue mission, gathered in the alleyway near the side entrance with the others as they enjoyed an after-dinner smoke. Clean-shaven, wearing an old ball cap, faded blue-jeans, and a white tee-shirt, he appeared no different than your next-door neighbor. Merely the location and that hint-of-having-endured-his-share-of-life look in his eyes betrayed his being one of those with whom we had come to worship. I had noted his absence at last month’s meeting and now approached him to inquire about the doctor’s report.

“Two years”, he replied; “That’s what they’re giving me. Two years.”

“Well,” I suggested; “those medical people don’t know everything.”

“They surely don’t,” he spoke with an impish grin; “They told me the same thing back in ’69!”

Nonetheless, further dialogue revealed that the bullet fragment, lodged in his brain since Viet Nam, was now beginning to angle downward; so, as we walked together into the building, I gave witness to a God who goes with us in the journey, One who remains faithful to meet us in our hour of need. Inside, while we set up some folding chairs and sorted out some hymns, he blended into the crowd; and then, for whatever reason, when we paused for prayer requests after worship, neither of us said anything about our earlier conversation.

Bob spoke of being able to see beyond your circumstance when “the waters are troubled” and Tony would continue along those lines, pointing to the truth of encountering His presence when you least expect it. The last fifteen minutes were mine to bring us into some sort of altar call. As best I could, I tried to paint a mental picture of stumbling down the straight path, balanced in Trinity: the Word in one hand, the Holy Ghost in the other, and taking the next step guided by an anchor-line stretched between His throne and my belly. What came up out of a deep inner well as we closed, however, was a moaning and a groaning for my friend, uniting all of us in a plea unto God for his healing.

People, in my opinion, sometimes fail to understand such ministry. The men, themselves, have told me of those who come, spewing forth verses of Scripture as if judgment had been pronounced even before they began to preach. I do not see Christ so entering the room.

"Sermon Substitutes...................................."

Knowing that our pastor was away, enjoying a well-deserved, two-week vacation, I went to early morning services this past Sunday mostly out of obligation. Youth, of course, needs to gain experience and the young fellow scheduled to speak ought to be supported; but, in truth, my spirit was just not all that stirred this time out. So I went; I sat; and, in the end, was happy I did. Old dogs and lessons to learn. Can it be accomplished?.....

Although we didn’t completely surrender ourselves unto the moment, somewhere during the worship the well over-flowed, sending a wave over the entire congregation, connecting us to Him in prayer, praise and music, creating a sweet-smelling incense. It happens now and then with this bunch, but never seems to reach ultimate potential. Gradually, as such events do, it ceased, format regained perspective, and we gave the reins to the preacher…..

I don’t recall his sharing any particular Biblical verse, just an apology for what he felt would be no more than an emptying of that which was cooking inside him. Beginning with the story of his somehow joining a Swedish missions group unto Uganda, he showed us video pictures of various members dramatizing the Gospel, singing a few songs, and solidly confirming (as he put it) the locals’ suspicions that “white men can’t dance”…..

Ever the critic, I wondered just how waving banners and miming skits could effectively win souls to Christ. Were we viewing but another “repeat-after-me-my-version-of-salvation”, or did the Reality of the Resurrection actually make Himself known in their midst? As the film ended, however, the young man stood there with a lump in his throat, testifying of his having witnessed hearing restored unto the deaf, sight unto the blind…..

There was a hunger in his heart, he said, to know such miracles in his own church and, as he opened the altar, he simply dropped to his knees and became one with it. While some within the assembly moved forward, finding individual “prayer closets”, I sat there, at first, hesitant to respond, then arose to kneel beside him, joined “at the belly” in tears and tongues. Unity, if only for a few precious minutes, in the Holy Ghost…..

"Balancing the Books....................."

When I read of the recent monetary settlement agreed upon by our nation’s largest Roman Catholic Archdiocese, while my mind did ponder America’s members of that community seemingly being singular in the commission of such crimes, I remained, nonetheless, un-shocked that the violations were uncovered. Whatever one’s doctrinal declarations, whatever the name over the door, neither baptism nor new birth possess the ability to completely purge a man of who he is. If you lift up the skirt of that great Lady, what you find is humanity unchanged other than its submission unto Christ; and, in my opinion, there’s no greater testimony to that fact than the revelation of that particular body of believers holding title to real estate worth around four billion U.S. dollars! It is from these assets that they expect to generate cash flow; but, assuming it to be a little hard to sell a cathedral, I’m left to ask just what property they otherwise own and will its loss hurt merely their pocketbook or a neighborhood in need?.........

My own roots go back more than three decades to a small sanctuary capable of seating possibly a three-hundred, Easter morning crowd if we squeezed folding chairs into the nooks and crannies of the arrangement. The church, itself, was positioned on a steep hill; and torrential rainfalls often gave us worry about potential flooding of basement Sunday school rooms. Eventually, the musical talents of one family, plus an awesome anointing on their son, would take us down the road to level ground, a large brick edifice erected by our own constituents, and, best of all, finally sufficient parking space to contain us. Next: a garage to house our buses. Then: a school that we envisioned would help us to better educate our children. Today they speak with great pride concerning the surrounding land and houses since acquired. Somewhere along the way, though, it lost meaning to me, the work seeming nothing more than an ecclesiastical vacuum sucking up the countryside. Bigger barns. Television coverage, Come hear our message. Enjoy the program……….

Is it enough to be a “Gospel filling station”? If what you preach doesn’t have enough skin to walk itself down the street to heal the hurts and meets the needs of those around you, maybe it’s time to re-evaluate. I point that finger at myself every so often and don’t like the answer that comes to me. When last night, however, a chance encounter with an old friend reacquainted us with each other’s progress since our last meeting, I was saddened that the conversation turned to the present state of our old assembly’s affairs. Much of what he had heard was nothing more than exaggerated rumors, images transmitted via the proverbial grapevine, but seasoned with enough truth to make me shake my head. If focus is shifted, in any manner, from Him to us, the picture is blurred and the reception thereof blurred. People just tend to see the mess. Still, it’s even worse if we, ourselves, are blind to the mess we’re making; and, oh, how sad if we think that Jesus, in referring to His Father’s business, meant it in terms of realizing a financial profit………..

"Mis-identifyng Infallibility.................."

“From the canyons of the mind we wander and on and stumble blind, Wade through the often tangled maze of starless nights and sunless days, Hoping for some kind of clue, a road to lead us to the truth; But who will answer?

Is our hope in walnut shells, worn ‘round the neck with temple bells? Or deep within some cloistered walls where hooded figures pray in shawls? Or high upon some dusty shelves, or in the stars, or in ourselves? Who will answer?

If the soul is darkened by a fear it cannot name, If the mind is baffled when the rules don’t fit the game, Who will answer? Who will answer? Who will answer?”


After finishing my book by Chaim Potok, where one man’s reply to the introduction of the word “war” was “Varum?” or “Why?”, I immediately began one with Ravi Zacharias that begins with the above lyrics. In the forward, Chuck Colson gave statistics showing while, in 1960, sixty-five percent of Americans said they believed the Bible to be true, less than four decades later that figure had diminished to thirty-two percent. In fact, by 1996, sixty-seven percent of this country denies there is any such thing as “truth”, and seventy percent say there are no moral absolutes. “This confusion over truth”, he noted, “is the fundamental crisis of our age” and “What is needed is for lay Christians to be equipped with the kind of logic and analysis you will find in these pages.”.....

Beginning, however, with a Malcolm Muggeridge quote noting how we, as a nation have “educated ourselves into imbecility”, Ravi, himself, states: “Much of what has passed for the Christian message has been nothing more than frothy God-talk-mindless, thoughtless, and in its exploitation of people, heartless. This will not do. Just as so much of anti-theistic thinking, when scrutinized, is senselessly impoverished, so, too, much religious verbiage, seeped in emotional drivel and bereft of reason, can be tossed at unsuspecting audiences in the name of orthodoxy. The ruinous end of the latter, in its destruction of lives plundered materially and spiritually, may be greater than the ideas perpetuated by the openly cynical….Reality can be lost when reason and language have been violated”.....

I sat Wednesday evening in a Bible study on the Book of James. I have high respect for the teacher and recognize the good hearts of those who participated in discussion. Nonetheless, what continues to rub at my spirit is a seeming lack of credibility given to the reality of the Holy Ghost. We seem to think the Word either a volume of divine authority with which we have been entrusted to raise the dead, or merely a set of directions void of any power other than what efforts we invest into following the rules. Personally, I believe the term “inspired” means “breathed into” on a daily basis, not just several thousand years ago. I also find that foundation of our faith, the Trinity, to represent three actually supernatural Beings who go with me in taking the next step. That, for me defines both “grace” and “deliverance”…..

"The Tie That Binds........................."

Chaim Potok is one of my favorite authors, although, of a truth, there are yet a couple of his novels I’ve yet to read. Fiction is not my normal pastime; but this fellow brings to the table a bit more than imaginative writing. On the back of my current purchase, there is given a brief snapshot of the young Jewish woman characterized within its content. “Ilana Davita Dinn”, it begins, “believes that, without stories, there is nothing. Stories feed the present, delineate the past, reveal the future; and, for three men, Davita becomes the lightning rod that draws their words out of a dark emotional sky. Under her influence, their histories take shape and their narratives unfold.” Couple that with Potok’s own observation in an interview that “No other form can move back and forth, in and out, nothing can move the way the novel can, in terms of the dimension of time. People and time are what I think the novel is really all about; and I think they are limitless”…………

When asked to provide a title for my recent contribution to the Elder Storytelling site hosted by Ronni Bennett, I offered “Connections”, but “Memories” might have been a much better choice since the tale concerned an event shared more than five decades ago with my fraternal grandparents. Does not that latter term, though, serve as a link between past and present, not only for the owner of such possession, but also for those given mental image via the eyes of that one who was there? The recollection doesn’t even have to be accurate. Humanity being what it is, we all usually do walk away from experiences with different perceptions of what actually took place, even as we hear with individual understanding that which is being told. Our words may open up a channel, but it takes more than just “spanning the gap” if we wish to establish agreement between those minds and hearts situated at either end of the message. Dialogue is, nonetheless, a beginning…………..

While my immediate family never spoke nor acted in terms of racial bigotry, it yet remains, growing up in the 50s, we had zero contact with the segregated black folk of our community. Any insight at all to an African-American’s point of view, therefore, was never gained until I worked side by side with one fellow for more than fifteen years, a friendship slowly growing out of that relationship. Likewise my knowledge of the descendants of Abraham. I’ve never known them other than a passing acquaintance, the Holocaust a word I associate with a few photographs encountered and a brief description given me via a journal written by one who was there. What I gain via Mr. Potok’s novels, however, is not the horror of the camps, but the inner soul of what it means to be a Jew, discovering them as people. Just like me. Just like you. And I find that a start. I want to hear. I want to see. For surely there is a common Spiritual umbilical cord that connects us all if we would but listen…………..

"Hi-Speed Theology Audit........................."

The return trip from St. Pete was accomplished in record time, the troopers apparently in agreement about allowing all motorists access to whatever speed they wished to maintain. Breakfast at a McDonald’s drive-through, two stops for gas, and a brief afternoon dinner at Cracker Barrel had us walking into the comfort of our “old Kentucky home” exactly fifteen hours after departure. I freely admit to having had my little Toyota Camry eating up the road, but offer, in my defense, the truth that there was a multitude of other vehicles blowing by me like I was standing still. Indeed, eight motorcyclists absolutely startled me on the outskirts of Knoxville, creating their own lane of traffic and one of them passing between me and the guy to my right via whatever space existed there. It almost seemed apropos, then, (although I did ponder the author’s point of query) to approach, from behind, a certain green SUV with the following message lettered across the expanse of its rear:

CAN YOU AFFORD TO BE WRONG ABOUT JESUS?

Was the driver Hindu? Atheist? Islamic terrorist? Perhaps he was nothing more than but one more dedicated member of the Christian community who was merely isolated in his particular perception of Biblical demand? I noted there being no religious placards placed anywhere else on his mode of transportation. No bumper sticker proclaiming “Be baptized or burn!” No rigid threat that speaking in tongues could grammatically determine one’s eternal destination. Nope. It all came down to a matter of how willing a man was to abandon his position in that present Interstate version of NASCAR; and unless I followed him to his next moment of immobility, I’d have no opportunity to further investigate the issue. I’d never know if my image of what it’s all about was congruent with his. Then, again, if this was just his way of planting seed, an ubiquitous billboard intended to do no more than probe your mind as you navigated northward, it had succeeded. Two days later I’m still tossing it around…….

"Just My Opinion................"

My family, in various mixtures, has vacationed at this particular condo in St. Pete almost yearly for the last two decades. It's always positioned, time-wise, so as to take in the Fourth of July, giving us an excellent view of the locals blowing up the entire waterfront. The other regularity, however, we've learned to expect as part of our visit is a daily appearance afforded us by some fellow who evidently lives around here. Over six foot tall, skin and bones, rounded out by tufts of blondish white hair that does little to hide his baldness, he strolls the beach dressed in a woman's bikini swimsuit, paying no attention at all to the looks he attracts. My wife and the others will usually share a few remarks regarding his boldness; but, of a truth, I find him just one more piece of the picture that humanity paints in its co-existance with each other.....

Many of the women here, seeking (I suppose) to enjoy the sun, are wearing similar apparell, with each singular unit of their upper anatomy individually held in place by no more than what resembles that small square patch of a young boy's slingshot, rubberbands attached to allow better "bounce to the ounce" as they move across the sand. Then there are the two teen-agers who have been locked in the same romantic embrace for nearly three days now, standing fifteen yards or so off shore, chest deep in the briny; and one huge Spanish-speaking family who, ignoring all other guests, daily claim the whole pool area and both grills with towels and other parapharnelia, while, at the same time owning most of the shoreline with a sort of "tent city" they've erected out there. Forget the jet-skis and motorboats that ignore the rules for no entrance into the bouy-marked swimming arena. Overlook the fishermen who show up with their bait-buckets and poles to cast their line over the heads of those frolicking in the waves.....

The way I see it, people are people, and maybe being considered "peculiar" by those who see themselves as being "normal" is a little like the pot calling the kettle black......

"From the Crow's Nest................."

After a long sixteen-hour drive this past Friday, I found myself once more seated on the veranda of the fifth-floor condo unit that Beth and I have frequented for more than twenty years. It overlooks the Gulf and, while "toe-dancing" for sand-dollars is not beyond my capabilities to explore now and then, it would be enough for me to sit in this very spot almost all day and consider it a vacation well spent. The distant horizon speaks to me of infinity, and the sound of the waves lapping on the beach is like the beat of my heart. There is peace in the whole transaction and rest for my soul. Who needs to grease themself down with lotion and lie there on the hot sand like a hotdog in the sun?.....

It's already seven in the morning here today and the dawn has illuminated the world before me. Nonetheless there is a white, circular full moon yet visible, hanging in a pale blue sky. Seagulls skim the surface of the ocean, looking for breakfast, now and then disappearing into the water and reappearing with the main course. Various boats occasionally leave the nearby inlet to venture forth into the deep. Isolated seekers of flotsam and jetsam continue to grow in number as I sit here and sip my coffee. The rest of the household is still asleep and this part of the day is mine to enjoy, this nook my personal realm to rule for a brief moment in time. I sit in the silence, savor the scenery, and sift through Brian McLaren's latest literary contribution. It's entitled "The Secret Message of Jesus", but seven chapters into it, what I'm hearing is: "Kingdom of God".....

The author seems to be aligned with my own opinion on the subject. While he tends to approach it in terms that make me think he's chasing a rabbit down the wrong hole, little by little his path narrows to focus on the Holy Ghost and I have hope that we will find ourselves in agreement by the end of the book. So many, though, in their recognizing the Third Member of the Trinity, by my reckoning fall short of affording Him "personage". He's just the equation they attach to their personal interpretation of the Word. I find Him a Reality, a divine Authority Who abides within any genuine believer, and the fulfillment of what Christ brings unto us. The world remains the world. His flag flys in my heart.....

The crew's awake. Time to relinquish the sanctuary......