Author: danefowlkes

I’m in constant danger of re-creating God according to my own image. A milquetoast deity fits the bill. When it comes to how God looks at me, I want Mister Rogers, not William Wallace (Braveheart); soft when it comes to my shortcomings, understanding when it comes to my errors, and tender when it comes to my failure. The last thing I want is a standard bearer, a strong and demanding Warrior Captain, a relentless Coach that will not settle for anything less than that for which I was created. I may be hard on myself, but God should take it easy on me.

There’s only one problem with this whole business–the Omnipotent One refuses to fit into molds of my own making. Our God is a God of grace, but his mercy is always in juxtaposition to relentless expectation. Remove the word “settle” from your Christian vocabulary–God grants unending grace, but he never settles for anything less than his plan for our lives.

“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:8-10, KJV)

No doubt you’ve seen the initials ‘WWJD’ and know that they stand for ‘What would Jesus do?,’ but do you remember who first popularized the question? It comes from a small book written more than a century ago by Congregational minister Charles Sheldon. “In His Steps: What Would Jesus Do?,” first published in 1896, has sold more than 30,000,000 copies, and ranks as one of the best-selling books of all time.

The story takes place in the railroad town of Raymond, somewhere in the eastern United States, and its main character is Rev. Henry Maxwell, pastor of the First Church of Raymond. The novel begins on a Friday morning when a man who is out of work appears at the front door of Rev. Maxwell while the preacher is laboring over Sunday’s upcoming sermon. Maxwell offers nothing more than ear service to the man’s helpless plea before dismissing him and closing the door behind him. The same man appears in church at the end of Sunday’s sermon and calmly, but in straight forward fashion, confronts the congregation about their lack of compassion for the unemployed in Raymond. Upon finishing his address to the congregation, the man collapses, and dies a few days later. Deeply moved by the events of the previous week, Rev. Maxwell stands the following Sunday and challenges his congregation to not do anything without first asking, “What would Jesus do?” From that moment forward, the novel consists of certain episodes focusing on individuals whose lives are changed by the challenge.

WWJD? gets at the crux of the Christ life. St. Peter writes, “For even hereunto were ye called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps.” He is our Savior; he is also our Model. Not only did Christ’s sojourn on earth end in ultimate sacrifice and victory, in the process he provides the ultimate example of how to live. I wonder what would change, better yet–I wonder how I would change if I implemented such a strategy? When you get right down to it, the Christian life is nothing more and nothing less than our moment-by-moment effort to answer the Jesus question.

A legend from India tells of a mouse who was terrified of cats until a magician agreed to cast a spell and transform him into a cat. That resolved his fear until he met a dog, so the magician turned him into a dog. The mouse-turned cat-turned dog was content until he met a tiger, so once again the magician turned him into what he feared. But when the mouse-turned cat-turned dog-turned tiger came to the magician complaining that he had met a hunter, the magician refused to help. “I will make you into a mouse again, for though you have the body of a tiger, you still have the heart of a mouse.” Attitude is everything.

Once Winston Churchill was sitting on a platform waiting to speak to a large crowd that had gathered to hear him. The chairman of the event leaned over and said, “Isn’t it exciting, Mr. Churchill, that all these people came to hear you speak?” Churchill responded, “It is quite flattering, but whenever I feel this way I always remember that if, instead of making a political speech I was being hanged, the crowd would be twice as big.” While poverty of character is never encouraged, Jesus himself raises the right estimation of one’s self to the highest possible priority. “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3, KJV). Only when I see myself in light of Christ and evaluate myself according to service to humanity, am I able to embrace the heart of God rather than that of a mouse.

Dallas Willard: “A vision of God secures humility. Seeing God for who He is enables us to see ourselves for what we are. This makes us bold, for we see clearly what great good and evil are at issue, and we see that it is not up to us to accomplish it, but up to God–who is more than able. We are delivered from pretending, from being presumptuous about ourselves, and from pushing as if the outcome depended on us. We persist without frustration, and we practice calm and joyful noncompliance with evil of every kind.”

Dishes don’t wash themselves, so here I am again while she persists in lollygagging on the floor near our houseguest. Why can’t she be more down to earth like me instead of wasting time with her head in the clouds? I’ve covered for her so often it makes my head go to swimming. Just once, I’d like to be the one to ooh and aah and offer witty retorts; instead, the lines on my face are beginning to resemble my dishpan hands, and all I have to show for years of domestic labor are a body no man would want and a mind too dull for thinking beyond tonight’s matzah or tomorrow’s gruel. They would all go hungry if it wasn’t for me. Perhaps I should just let them fend for themselves this time. Enough is enough. It’s high time she carry her own weight instead of me toting the whole burden this place and that. None of this is fair. “Lord, if you cared one whit about me ….”

“Yes Lord, I hear you. There is a difference between choosing to serve and choosing to be a servant? Serving is all about me and servanthood is all about you? You mean that I’ve been so consumed with envy that it has become second nature for me to grumble, and that I retreat to the comfort of disgruntlement in order to cover my own insecurity? Attitude trumps action, and the right thing can be done for the wrong reason? I can’t bring myself to say I ought to be more like her, but I do confess my need to be more like you.”

Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard his word. But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her therefore that she help me. And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her. (‭Luke‬ ‭10‬:‭38-42‬ KJV)

I remember where I was the first time I heard Billy Graham preach. It was the 1968 Houston crusade held in the brand new Houston Astrodome, and I was proudly carrying the Bible my grandmother had given me for Christmas. I can’t remember what was said or who was with Dr. Graham, but I do recall that the air smelled like plastic and cotton candy, an odd but unforgettable olfactory combination. I remember where I was the moment we learned that John F. Kennedy had been shot. I was about to enter the J. C. Penny store in old downtown Port Arthur with my mother and Grandma Richey, when a woman burst through the doors, arms waving frantically in the air, screaming “The President’s been shot! The President’s been shot!” I was three years old, but I can still see the scene and feel the emotion attached to it.

A memory is deepened when formed from exposure to multiple senses. If you think about it, it’s what makes possible, in fact, impossible not to remember experiences in your grandmother’s kitchen, a childhood classroom, or Christmases past. You need only be exposed to a similar scent or situation and the result is instant recall. Others are remembered only briefly: an outline for an exam, a verse that you need to recall for a specific occasion, someone’s name that’s important at that moment. Hearing or seeing does not necessarily forge a memory. Remembering comes from hearing and seeing and tasting and touching and smelling. “Touch has a memory” (John Keats).

There’s a reason for remembering; memory is as much about today as it is yesterday. “‘It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,’ says the White Queen to Alice” (Lewis Carroll, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass”). God created memory so that I may learn from my past, for the purpose of either repeating or avoiding it. “Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real” (Cormac McCarthy, “All the Pretty Horses (The Border Trilogy, #1”).

Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him. He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father’s which sent me. These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. (John 14:23-26, KJV)

Knowing how to end is one of my biggest challenges in writing. The ‘when’ of finishing usually works itself out; it’s the quality of closing that’s in question. The same may be said of human existence. These days I find myself face to face, face to back, and face to knee with my own physical decline and inevitable mortality. Just last week I was down on my knees laying some tile, complaining to my grandson Josh how I had shortened the lifespan of my knees by wasting my childhood pretending to be a horse. He promptly asked if I would be walking with a cane by the time he was his brother’s age (that will be in only five years), then added, “if you’re still alive.” There’s nothing like the brutal honesty of a child to set one to thinking. Frankly, I understand better now than ever why my mother said so often that she wanted Jesus to come again, so that she wouldn’t have to die. She was secure in her relationship with Christ, she simply preferred to bypass the finality of ending. I wish that she could have done so, and to be honest–so do I.

I can truthfully say it’s not the dying that bothers, it’s the fear of not fully living while I’m still alive. “We must be careful with our lives, for Christ’s sake, because it would seem that they are the only lives we are going to have in this puzzling and perilous world, and so they are very precious and what we do with them matters enormously”(Buechner). There’s not much I can do about the weakening of my knees or the chronic catch in my lower back, but I do have within reach the ability to write my own epitaph. What happened or didn’t happen yesterday pales in significance with what I do right now. My life does count, and this very moment matters. The living of this day consumes, not remorse for the past or fear of failing to have tomorrow; the only way to know I’ll end well is by fully living for Christ right now.

“I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” (John 9:4-5, KJV)

My wife is quite accomplished at discovering and sharing a wide variety of meaningful and sometimes surprising YouTube videos. For example, over the past week she has posted “How to bake a delicious pink zebra cake,” John Wayne speaking on family values, and Texas A&M students surprising President George and former First Lady Barbara Bush with a customized rendition of Cotton Eyed Joe. But my favorite is today’s: “A must see tap dance duel by US seminarians.” The video portrays Roman Catholic seminary students David Rider and John Gibson tap dancing at the Rector’s Dinner at North American College in Rome back in April of this year. Their duel was part of a larger presentation of “Old Broadway” by fellow seminary students, and the two dancers are amazing. One would have expected a Gregorian chant or a stirring rendition of “Ave Maria,” anything but a toe tapping (pun intended) display that rivals any I’ve seen before (http://youtu.be/UdYDKmpzt5U).

To state the obvious, spiritual leaders are normally expected to be, well, “spiritual,” and tap dancing isn’t high on most lists of requirements for clergy. We prefer people of the cloth to toe a grim line, to be godly leaders acquainted with grief who prove it consistently by what they wear and how they carry themselves. Not long ago I was paying for coffee and digestive biscuits at our local grocer when the cashier said to me, “You’re a preacher aren’t you?” I replied without thinking, “Do I look that bad?” Don’t get me wrong, dealing with eternity is serious business, but I must ask myself, when, in the name of all that’s holy, did joy become incompatible with holiness?

Jesus quite literally carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet he seldom missed a party and found himself the featured attraction at most celebrations. People of questionable character attached themselves to him, and it appears that he went out of his way to find and include them in his flock, extending grace and expressing contagious compassion. Our Savior makes room for somber reflection and confession of sin, but equally encourages exhilaration and rejoicing over forgiveness. A large part of discovering that grace is always present tense is allowing ourselves to kick up our heels once in awhile and demonstrate that knowing Christ is a really good thing.

At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do. (‭Luke‬ ‭10‬:‭21‬, NIV)

I don’t remember ever driving through Delta County, and I know I’ve never been to Cooper, Texas, that is, until yesterday. My intent was to attend the annual meeting of the Red River Valley Baptist Association, an assignment that proved to be unexpectedly eventful due to failure of my mobile GPS to locate the host church. I first realized I was lost when the computer generated voice from my phone led me to the middle of a cotton field, with no one but a few boll weevils for company. Apart from compassion and directions of a road crew flag man, I might still be wandering aimlessly in the land of cotton. When I finally found East Delta Baptist Church, the peanut butter toast I’d eaten for breakfast was a distant memory, so I opted to search for food before going in. That’s when I discovered Cooper.

In ways that matter to people who keep track of such things, Cooper is a disappointment. Founded circa 1870, Cooper grew rapidly, and In the mid-1890s, a railroad line was built through the city, assisting in Cooper’s growth. The city continued to grow until the region’s cotton crop failed in 1926; her economy didn’t recover and likely never will. To add insult to injury, Cooper has no sites listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and evidently, not much of historic significance takes place there, except at meal time. I drove around the square (is it possible to drive around a square?), attempting to spot one of the few restaurants listed on my ‘Around Me’ app. The first was closed, so I continued and settled for the next one on the app–“Big Jon’s Burgers.” Holding the front door slightly ajar, I sniffed before going in, a practice learned from entering other dens of deep fried iniquity where one emerges smelling more like an onion ring than a human being. Big Jon’s passed the nasal test, so I entered and was greeted by the owner/ hostess/ cashier Kathy, who is married to Big Jon (he was away playing golf–evidently a common occurrence). The two of them and their daughter have owned the place for seven years, and once I tasted the food, I understood the reason they were still in business. Their patty melt and fries melted in my mouth, and I washed it all down with fresh sweet tea–very satisfying. I also enjoyed some lighthearted conversation with Kathy as well as Bubba, the local farrier, and by the time I finished lunch I felt like I belonged. I am grateful for this unexpected reminder that what matters most in life is that people matter most.

The Delta County Chamber of Commerce proudly declares: “We are a small county in northeast Texas and we can live with that. We are in the green belt section of Texas and we enjoy our fertile land, good neighbor values, and country living. Our visitors are always welcome and we invite you to come see us.” That’s an attitude that I can live with.