Pastor's Blog

I was in a store when I heard over the store speakers, “Maintenance, you are needed in the women’s restroom immediately.”  My mind quickly thought, “Eew, that’s something you don’t want to hear.”  Which got me thinking, what else don’t we want to hear?  Here are a few of the things that came to my mind.

• Wow, the years have not been kind to you.
• Oh look.  The neighbors just got their 11 year old son a drum set.
• Honey, we’re pregnant, and it’s quintuplets!
• Your dog has had his rabies shot, hasn’t he?
• License and registration, please.
• But Daddy, I love him!
• OK, clean off your desk, we have a pop quiz today.
• Is the TV supposed to smoke like that?
• Mom, have you seen my snake?

There are other things we don’t want to hear.  We like to think of ourselves as independent, successful, and good.  But the Bible says we are sinners, people who have done wrong, and broken God’s intention for our lives.  All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way. (Isaiah 53)  We don’t want to hear harsh words; we want to hear praises and support.  But, we are sinners.  God intended us to live in perfect union with Him, yet we have chosen to chase after our own desires.  We believed the lie that life is about us.  The good news is that God in His love for us sent His son, Jesus.  He came to pay the penalty for our wrongs.  On the cross, what was broken was made whole; what was lost was found; what was destroyed was restored.  We don’t want to hear we are a sinner, but we are.  But thanks be to God for His love and grace, in Jesus Christ we are reconciled to God.  But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53) 

Chad

Once again the world is caught up in Olympic fever.  Many of us are glued to our televisions watching athletes from around the world compete for fame, glory and a gold medal.  There is in many of us the desire to be a champion…to be the best.  We want fame.  We want glory.  We want licensed action figures made in our likeness.  We want to be like Luke Skywalker, G.I. Joe, or Barbie.  I can see it now, Pastor Chad and Pastor Cindy action figures, with authentic power preaching action.  Press the button on the back and you hear phrases like, “Don’t make me use you as a sermon illustration!” and “Wow, let’s pray about that right now!”  Optional accessories could include the “Preacher-mobile”, the “Preacher-scooter”,  the “Preacher – Dream RV” and the “Mega-master-Preaching-Pulpit” which transforms from a Pulpit into a private “sanctuary of seclusion” where we don’t have to hide our true secret identities.

OK, maybe I’ve thought about this a little too long.  But I do know there is within many people the desire to be a hero, to be adored, to be significant.  The Olympics offer such dreams.  People from around the world hold the hopes and dreams of their nation in their hands, as they skate, ski, snowboard, and compete.  For those who succeed, there awaits the cover of Sports Illustrated, a Wheaties Cereal box, and a sport drink named after them.  As an aside, can someone explain to me how curling became an Olympic sport?  What’s next, corn-hole? (For you non-North Carolinians, corn-hole is a game similar to horse shoes, only you throw bean bags at hole in a sloped board)

Maybe you are thinking…I don’t want to be famous, or adored.  I just want to be myself, and be appreciated for who I am.  Well, I have good news.  God loves you.  More than that, if you trust in God, the Lord delights in you. (Psalm 22:8 & 147:11)   You are precious in His sight. (Isaiah 43:4)  You are so dear to Him, the Lord knows the numbers of hairs on your head.  (Matthew 10:30)  He created you in your mother’s womb, and gave you His Spirit.  He watches over you.  You are God’s child, created in His likeness.  When you became a follower of Jesus, all the angels in heaven rejoiced.  (Luke 15:10)  The truth is we don’t need an action figure to be important.  We don’t need a gold medal to be honored.  The Creator of the universe has declared you worthy of His love and attention.  And one day, you will be with Him forever – and that’s far better than any of the optional accessories the toy store has to offer.

Chad

What is it about people that they want to give things up for Lent?  I remember a friend of mine used to talk about giving up liver for Lent.  He hated liver.  He never ate it anyways.  It was pretty easy for him to do. If I’m going to give something up….I want it to be significant.  I want people to say, “Wow, what a spiritual giant!”   I’ve thought about it, and maybe I should give up mornings.  You know…just sleep until noon.  It will be a tremendous challenge.  I know everyone is marveling at my spiritual depth for me to even suggest such a thought.  And yet, to show my commitment to the Lord, I’m willing to suffer through it.  My dedication amazes even me sometimes.

I know that giving things up for Lent is supposed to be a spiritual exercise.  We choose to deny ourselves as a demonstration of our devotion to God.  We should also  find a way to make it spiritually enriching as well.  If you give up your coffee shop coffee for Lent, don’t just pocket the money.  Put it in a jar, and then donate it to disaster relief or a homeless ministry.  If you choose to give up watching TV, use some of that time to read your Bible, or to call fellow church members to see how they are doing, or volunteer at the local animal shelter or food bank.    If you choose to give up desserts, perhaps you can share your dessert budget with a Haiti relief group, or you can make your Pineapple-Brussel Sprout Surprise for a sick neighbor.  If you give up chocolates, just send them to your favorite minister…I’m sure she or he was smart enough not to give those up.  So she or he will know just how to get rid of them for you.  The point is, what ever you are saving by “giving something up for Lent”, use your savings as a means of ministry.  Get creative, have fun, be a blessing.  As for me, I’ve decided to give up octopus wrestling.  It will be a challenge, but think of the good I can do with all the time I’ll save.

Blessings,

Chad

I ride a scooter.  Now before you fall off your chair laughing, understand that my scooter is not one of those scooters with the small 50cc motors.  I have no problem with them, except many of them only go 35 miles an hour. At 35 mph they’ve hit the top end of their rpms and sound something like a cat with it’s tail caught in a door.  No, my scooter is a big bodied monster with a raging 250 cc engine.  The law requires me to have a motorcycle license to drive it.  Did I just hear someone gasp with renewed awe and respect?  I thought so.

Every time I see that big blue scooter, I feel the wind in my face, and the freedom of the road.  I can hear Steppenwolf’s Born To Be Wild playing in my mind.  The Editor of MotoUSA magazine recently wrote how a person’s cool factor is raised when they are riding a motorcycle.  “I don’t care how big a beer gut you’ve got or the size of your comb-over on your head, throw on a helmet, grab a leather vest, and peel out on a West Coast Chopper and you’ve just become exponentially cooler.”  OK.  I don’t have a leather vest.  And a scooter is no West Coast Chopper.  And it won’t peel out.  But I still feel like ZZ Top Bad to the Bone should be playing when I’m astride my bike at a stop light.  There’s something different and dangerous about being on two wheels compared to the rest of society in their four wheel steel cages.  I’m a rebel.

Just when the smell of exhaust starts to mix with the night air and I inhale to howl at the moon.  Someone will notice I’m riding a scooter and start laughing.  It’s OK.  Being a rebel, I’m used to not being understood.

I was a rebel long before I got my scooter.  When Jesus Christ came into my life, I was no longer one of the crowd.  In Jesus Christ I could no longer think life was about me and my fun.  I saw that I was a child of God and called to live the love of God in my words and actions.  Jesus called me from a life lived for me, to a life lived for Him.  I was to be in the world, but not of it.  I was to become an influencer rather than the influenced.  I believe that the last will be first and the servant of all will be the greatest in God’s Kingdom.  Complete strangers who share a common faith with me are my brothers and sisters.  This world is not my home, but I am a citizen of a heavenly kingdom.  I’m a rebel, because the most important thing to me has nothing to do with money, or fame, or success.  What I care about most is hearing the voice of one who died 2,000 years ago saying “Well done, good and faithful servant.”  So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep riding the raging monster.  It helps remind me that I am a rebel.

4But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, 5made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. 6And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, 7in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. (Ephesians 2)

Chad

The Sweetheart Banquet was a great success. Once again the people of FV Presbyterian showed their generosity as $2,600.00 was raised. The Sweetheart Banquet is an annual event sponsored by the Men of the Church. It’s advertised as a special dinner with gourmet desserts. The “gourmet desserts” are extravagant desserts made by the men (or their wives, or the near by bakery). Two desserts are made, one for eating, and the other is to be put up for auction. There is a little rivalry over who’s dessert brings the most money at auction. The desserts have been a particular source of unpleasantness for me. You see, I like to think I’m a good cook. But the making of the desserts remind me I’m lucky if I can boil water. In the past eight years, four of the desserts I attempted worked out (thanks to the careful oversight and assistance of my wife). One year, on my own, I made chocolate cakes that refused to rise. They looked like small manhole covers. My wife, Cindy, called to see how things were going. After explaining to her that the moon was in its wrong phase, and the relative humidity was all wrong for baking, I told her about the manhole covers. She chose to rescue me by stopping at a bakery in Cary where for the price of a mortgage payment you could purchase a cake. I’m not sure whether it was cheaper to buy the cake, or if I should have just offered to match everyone else’s bid that night.

This year I was excited. I chose to make a Turtle Cake – Chocolate Fudge cake with chocolate frosting, caramel baked in each layer and pecans mixed into the frosting. I was going to really turn out a winner. I looked up suggestions on how to make it on the internet. Cindy reminded me to follow the directions. I was all set to go…then a crisis of epic proportions struck. The internet said to fill the cake pans part way, and bake for 5 minutes. After the short baking, add your caramel, and then the rest of the batter, and complete the cooking. But the cake mix recipe didn’t say any short-baking or prebaking could be done. In my mind I could see a thread dangling that if I pulled….the universe would come unraveled. What was I to do? Well, I decided to blend the two recipes. I poured in half that batter, then added the little caramel chunks, and then pour in the rest of the batter. My brilliance amazed even me. The cakes cooked at the proper temperature for the proper time, the moon phase and relative humidity were appropriate, and at the appointed time four beautiful pans of chocolate caramel cake came out of the oven. I allowed them to do some cooling, and then I started the critical process of removing the cake from the pan. I believe this is a specialized technique that requires the skills of a brain surgeon. I cut all the way around the pan, turned it over, gave a slight shake and……..nothing. The cake was going no where. It was clinging to that pan. I gave it another little shake, then another. I abandoned the little shake technique for a good solid shake, quickly moving on to rapping an edge of the pan on the counter top. Finally, the cake slipped way from the cake pan…..in pieces. Well, at least the top of the cake broke away in pieces. It turns out there’s a reason for the prebaking of the bottom of the cake. It seems that caramel chunks are more dense than chocolate cake batter, which means in an oven at 350 degrees for 28 minutes they swim through the batter and adhere themselves to the bottom of the pan like epoxy. The prebaking forms a mystical barrier which keeps caramel from migrating and affixing to cake pan bottoms. Well, after several discussions with the cakes and pans, all four layers came out in pieces. Cindy quickly rejected my idea of melting caramel and trying to use it as glue so I could put the pieces together. I was defeated again. There would be no turtle cake gracing the table at the Sweetheart Banquet. I would go empty handed.

Thankfully, there were plenty of cakes available. The food was wonderful, the entertainment truly enjoyable, and the dessert auction – turtleless – but successful. God was there in the hearts of the people. His goodness filled them with joy, generosity, and love. I have 11 months and two weeks to think about next year’s cake. Who knows what creative masterpiece I may bring. One thing I do know, God is good, and no matter what the atmospheric conditions might be, His love endures for ever.

Chad

If you are a Northerner/Yankee – you remember the first time you ate grits.  You thought they were “Cream of Wheat” and poured sugar and milk on them.  Those around you smirked, laughed, or just shook their head with disgust.  Eventually you learned that the proper way to eat grits was with salt and butter.  My first time eating grits was at seminary.  Our New Jersey Seminary had a large contingent of southern students who begged Tony, the cafeteria manager, for an occasional escape from oatmeal and cream of wheat.  Tony finally agreed and grits made it to the menu.  I was never smart enough to ask what the white glop in the pan was – mostly because I was eating the eggs or pancakes.  Well, one cold winter’s day I decided a nice hearty bowl of warm glop was just what I needed.  So seeing what I believed to be cream of wheat in the serving line, I asked for a bowl from the server.  Yes, milk and sugar were the additives of choice.  A friend from South Carolina watched as I took my first mouthful.  Then he said in his southern charming way, “Don’t tell me you’re gonna eat those grits like that.”  I gained my composure quickly enough that I didn’t spit the grits across the table.  After I swallowed that first spoonful, now well aware this was not cream of wheat, I gave my friend a big grin, and declared, “Sure they are great this way!”  I choked down my sugared glop and vowed I would never again choose a menu item I wasn’t absolutely sure what it was.   That’s why I never ever tried the oxtail stew.

 Over my years in the South, I’ve learned there are a variety of embellishments that people put into their grits.  One of the favorite grits dishes at the church is Robin’s cheese grits.  When we have breakfast at the church in conjunction with our Pig Pickin’, I’ve noticed more than one person putting bacon, or sausage, or just bacon grease into their grits.  Not that I’m a grits purist, but isn’t that cheating?  If salt and butter are the rule, what’s with all the additives?  Why snicker at the ignorant Yankee, if you are sneaking cheese and bacon in yours when no one else is looking?

 Take a look around and you will see we are all different.  We prefer different music, watch different things on TV, and have different favorite meals.  We are varied in height, weight, and age.  We come with all sorts of views – Republicans and Democrats, sports fans and shop-a-holics, computer nerds and technophobes.  We are called by God to be one.  There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female. We are one in Jesus Christ.  The challenge for you and me is bringing this diverse group of people together to a common vision and mission.  Sometimes that means holding our tongues so others can have a say.  Sometimes it means helping do a ministry that really doesn’t speak to you, so that someone else can be blessed.  Sometimes it means listening and following, rather than leading and directing.  Sometimes it means eating your grits with milk and sugar on it.  But when we work together, sharing the burdens and the joys we find we are not just a church, but we are the Church.  For God is glorified in us and through us.

Chad