A Word for Teachers for a New School Year

A local superintendent invited me to speak to his faculty and staff as part of their personal/professional development on their first day back for the new school year.  He told me their word for the year was believe—believe in the students so that they might believe in themselves and improve themselves this year.  I was honored to be asked.  I had never done anything like this in my life, so I was a little nervous about too.  Anyway, some of the listeners found it encouraging, so I am posting here for any other teachers who might benefit from this as well.  It’s much longer than my typical blog (the superintendent told me to speak for 20 minutes).  But you can decide in a few paragraphs if it’s worth your time.

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Mary Ann Bird, a little girl from Massachusetts, was born with a cleft palate.  She was constantly teased and taunted in ways that made it clear to her how she must look to other children—misshapen lip, lopsided teeth, crooked nose, and garbled speech.  She was ashamed and often lied about her condition.  She wanted people to think it was caused by an accident rather than believe she was born this way.  By the age of seven, Mary Ann was convinced that no one outside her family could ever love her or even like her.

Then she entered second grade and Mrs. Leonard's class.  Everyone adored Mrs. Leonard, even Mary Ann.

In those days hearing tests were given in school.  Mary Ann was barely able to hear out of one ear.  She could not bear to reveal yet another problem that would single her out as different from everyone else, so she cheated.  As the teacher conducted the test, Mary Ann would sneak a peek at the other children and when she saw them raising their hands, she raised hers too.  But she couldn't escape being singled out in the whisper test where each child had to go to the door of the room, turn sideways, and block one ear with a finger.  The teacher would then whisper something like, "The sky is blue," or "Do you have new shoes?" and the child would have to repeat it.

Mary Ann dreaded this test.  As one by one the students in front of her made their trip to the door for the test, Mary Ann grew increasingly anxious.  She held onto her desk until her knuckles turned white.  But her turn finally came.  She just knew she would be found out.  Anticipating her shame she walked on up and stood at the door.  She pretended to block her good ear, hoping that nobody would notice.  And as she stood there, petrified by her fear, Mrs. Leonard softly whispered, "I wish you were my little girl."[1]

Mary Ann Bird called those words “the seven words that changed my life forever.”  Those words didn’t come from a parent.  They didn’t come from a preacher.  They didn’t come from a friend.  The seven words that changed her life forever came from a teacher—a teacher who chose to believe in a student that most others had written off.

You teachers can have a powerful impact in the life of your students.  Your belief in them, your encouragement in their lives, can change their lives in significant ways—from “I can’t” students to “I can” students; from “who cares?” students to “I care” students; from “I can’t wait to get out of school” students to “I can’t wait to embrace my future” students.

Teachers who believed in me and encouraged me made impact in my life I remember to this day.

I still remember my 5^th grade teacher, Mrs. Dennis, pulling me aside one day and saying, “John, I think you’re going places—you have a really good attitude.”  As a kid from a broken home, I was insecure and lacked confidence, and her words gave me life.  That was 1966, some 48 years ago.  I don’t remember anything else she said that school year, but I remember those words to this day.  She believed in me.

I remember in 6^th grade when Mr. Needham asked me to be the first captain of the first ever Safety Patrol at the crosswalks at Branson Elementary School.  He saw something in me I never saw in myself: leadership potential.  Sadly, I got tired of being teased for wearing my shoulder belt and my badge, and after about three months, I quit.  I still remember the astonished look on his face and the first words he said to me, “I’m stunned.”  He believed in me, and I let him down.  He did his part: he believed in me.  I failed in my part—not because I couldn’t lead but because I wouldn’t lead.  As you teachers and coaches already know, you’ll believe in some kids that will let you down.  But please don’t stop believing in kids. 

I remember Miss Kinsinger asking me to give the speech at my 8^th-grade graduation.  I wasn’t close to being valedictorian.  I wasn’t really a class leader, but I guess she saw something in me and assigned me that task.  It went well.  I received much encouragement.  That would be my first taste of public speaking.  Little did I know at the time that I would end up making a career of public speaking as a pastor.  She believed in me.

I remember Roy Gertson asking me to write for my high school paper.  I had never written anything except a few thank you notes after Christmas and a few letters to my dad.  But he saw some potential in me, asked me to write for the paper, and I’ve been writing this and that ever since.  He believed in me.

I remember my senior year, my first year to take “chorus” (I thought it would be easy—no homework) when Mr. Shurtz asked me to sing a solo for district contest.  I could carry a tune but it never occurred to me to sing a solo.  But he saw that capacity in me.  He worked with me after school a few times, got me ready, and I sang a solo for contest.  And more than 40 years later I still remember some of one of the songs I sang: “You can’t take it with you, Brother Will, Brother John, you can’t take it with you when you die.”  That experience gave me courage to sing more solos in the future in church and to my girlfriend with my guitar.  He believed in me.

And I remember Coach Russell.  It was my senior year.  I was on the track team for a school that didn’t even have a track.  But we practiced in an open field and on the lakefront—where the Branson Landing is now.  I was in one of those situations as a kid where if I didn’t work I didn’t have any money, so I tried to balance work and track.  I couldn’t practice every day.  Didn’t have the discipline or time to run much on my own.  But my boss let me off for meets.  I remember one of those meets.  I ran the 880 and a leg in the 2-mile relay.  The 2-mile relay was one of the first events.  I was nervous.  I knew I wasn’t ready, wasn’t in my best running shape.  I got the baton second, and we were in second place.  I took off and actually felt really good.  By the end of the first lap I caught and passed the runner in first place.  I opened up a 15 yard lead or so on him and maintained that lead till the last turn home.  Suddenly, my legs felt like lead, my lungs were on fire, my pulse was pounding like a bass drum in my head, and I hit the wall.  I finished, but the second place runner just went racing by me at the end.  I stumbled out into the infield and puked out everything I had eaten that day.  I was discouraged.  I so wanted to win.  Coach Russell found me after the race.  He was smiling.  I thought it was because I was puking and he could say, “See, when you don’t practice every day, this is what happens.”  But you know what he said?  He said, “McCallum, you just ran the best time you ever ran in your life.  I’m proud of you, boy.”  He believed in me.

And Coach Russell helped me realize that while I didn’t win the race, I won my race.  I did the best I could under my circumstances.  That’s helped me keep perspective on many things throughout my life.  And it’s helped me help others do the same.

And maybe that’s one thing you can do for your students and your athletes this school-year.  Encourage them to run their race and win their race.  Notice their potential.  And do whatever you can to help them see it too.  Believe in your students so that they might believe in themselves.

And you know how that works.  Every teacher I’ve known, whether they would admit it or not, have their favorite students.  They just like some kids better than others: maybe it’s chemistry, maybe the teacher knows the family, maybe it’s the kids’ talents, maybe the kid is fun to have in class and be around—I don’t know.  But you know.  And you also know that it’s pretty easy to believe in kids like that, to encourage kids like that, to invest a little more time in kids like that.  And there’s nothing wrong with that—that’s human nature, that’s life. 

But here’s the deal about kids like that.  They are kids that most everybody believes in.  They probably benefit from strong parental love and encouragement.  Other teachers love them too.  Some of them are part of churches that love them.  They’ve likely enjoyed some successes along the way in school or sports or music.  They are easy to believe in because they’ve proved themselves over and over.  Keep on believing in these kids.  Keep on encouraging them to get better and do better.  Keep on expecting much of them.  Celebrate their successes and encourage them when they fail.

But could I ask you to do something else this school-year?  What if in your classes this year, you deliberately look for two or three Mary Ann Birds who are kind of on the edge, who maybe don’t have the greatest home-life or the best grades, and seek to believe in that kid, to build into that kid, to help that kid see her potential and become what she may never be without your belief in her and your encouragement?

I’m a pastor, so I can’t help but get a little theological for a moment, so please bear with me.  My kids are long since grown and have kids of their own, but when they were in school, my wife and I decided we would exercise no influence over who their teacher would be in any given grade.  We could have.  Their elementary school principal was a personal friend and a faithful member of the church I served.  But we asked God to be in charge of that.  And we chose to trust that God would put our kids with the teacher they needed most and among a class they needed most to grow their lives.  Now, we didn’t always like God’s choice.  But by the end of each year we could see and so could our kids that God knew what He was doing.

I say that to say this: in my judgment the students who will sit at the desks in your classroom are not there coincidentally.  They are there because they don’t just need a geometry credit or a biology credit or an English credit or a foreign language credit; they need you.  And because God loves you and God loves those kids, He has put you together.  You already know that you don’t just teach subjects so much as you teach students.  So teach those students and believe in those students and encourage those students.  And maybe pick out one or two or three in whom you can make a real difference.  You can help a stone become flesh, a bud become a bloom, and a defeated kid taste a little success.  You can be another Mrs. Leonard to another Mary Ann Bird.

I guess I’m asking you to become an encourager.  The word encouragement is from the French word coeur: it means to put “heart” into someone.  You probably see more than your share of kids who could stand having some “heart” put into them.  Encouragement happens when you speak from your heart to someone else’s fears or failures.  Some are better encouragers than others, but all of us can do it at some level.  And for some of the kids in your classroom, any level you can offer may well be more than they’re getting anywhere else.

When the opportunity arises to encourage a kid, do it.  And I don’t so much mean group encouragement: “This is a great class.  You’re great students.”  The kids who get a lot of encouragement may benefit from that, but the kid who doesn’t will assume that you really mean everybody but him.  So find ways to offer individual encouragement.  And when you get the opportunity, do it.  Don’t hold it back and give it to them straight.

Garrison Keillor writes:

The town ball club was the Lake Wobegon Schroeders, so named because the starting nine were brothers, sons of E. J. Schroeder.  E. J. was ticked off if a boy hit a bad pitch.  He’d spit and curse and rail at him.  And if a son hit a home run, E. J. would say, “Blind man coulda hit that one.  Your gramma coulda put the wood on that one.  If a guy couldn’t hit that one out, there’d be something wrong with him, I’d say.  Wind practically took that one out of here, didn’t even need to hit it much”—and lean over and spit.

So his sons could never please him, and if they did, he forgot about it.  Once, against Freeport, his oldest boy, Edwin Jim, Jr., turned and ran to the centerfield fence for a long, long fly ball.  He threw his glove forty feet in the air to snag the ball and caught the ball and the glove.  When he turned toward the dugout to see if his dad had seen it, E. J. was on his feet clapping, but when he saw the boy look to him, he immediately pretended he was swatting mosquitoes.  The batter was called out, the third out.  Jim ran back to the bench and stood by his dad.  E. J. sat chewing in silence and finally said, “I saw a man in Superior, Wisconsin, do that a long time ago.  But he did it at night and the ball was hit a lot harder.”[2]

What kind of encouragement is that?  That’s the kind too many of your kids get at home.  You can do better than that as their teacher.  Kids who don’t get much encouragement need it straightforward and in clear language they can understand.  If they think you believe in them, they may start believing in themselves, and then the bar they set for themselves starts getting higher and higher and higher.  Don’t hold back encouragement or couch it in some backdoor way; offer it.

I always found that the best encouragement teachers gave me was honest feedback on the work that I did: written feedback on papers or tests, even just a line or two, affirming what I did right, helping me to see how to do other stuff better.  Huge encouragement for me!  From grade school to doctoral work, the teachers that encouraged me the most, the ones that I remember the best, are those who gave me personal feedback in word or in written form.  It’s discouraging to write a 20-page paper and get a grade and nothing else, even if the grade is an A.  Makes a student wonder if the teacher even read the paper or the essay on the test.   I had some friends who put a nursery rhyme in their lengthy essay just to see if the teacher read it, and a lot of teachers didn’t.  I’ve had all kinds of teachers in regard to feedback—from none to some to a lot.  So I made it a point in the teaching I’ve done at Midwestern Seminary and OBU to give written feedback on the work that’s presented.  It takes more time.  But it’s worth the effort.  Many former students have told me that they really appreciated the fact that I took time and interacted with them and the work they presented.  Personal, honest feedback feeds the soul of a kid. 

Have you read The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini?  Great book!  The central character is an Afghan boy named Amir.  The story is told from his point of view.  His father is prominent and demanding, a man unfamiliar with the ways of the heart.  But another man, Rahim, works for his father, and this man understood the heart and always took a special interest in Amir.  On one occasion, Amir had written a story.  His father and Rahim were in the room, sipping branding and smoking cigars.  Amir asked if his father would read his story.  His father declined, just sort of blew him off in a way that cut out Amir’s heart.  But Rahim took the story and said he’d be glad to read it.  And when he returned the story to Amir he handed him a note to go with it.  “Then,” says Amir, “he paused and added a single word that did more to encourage me to pursue writing than any compliment any editor has ever paid me.  That word was Bravo.”  The note itself was just as encouraging and closed with these lines: “My door is and always will be open to you, Amir jan.  I shall hear any story you have to tell.  Bravo.  Your Friend, Rahim.”[3]

Take time to give some individual feedback.  It’s encouraging.  It can put heart into a student.  It can call forth better effort and harder work.  It can build confidence in a kid.  It can make a Mary Ann Bird spread her wings and fly to heights she never imagined.  Give honest feedback to your students in whatever ways best connect with the individual kid.

And could I encourage you to be available now and then before or after school to meet with the student who needs a little extra encouragement and teaching.  I know you’ve got lives.  I know you’re busy.  And I know you can’t do this every day.  The kid’s schedule may not make that possible either.  But could you do it some, now and then, for those two or three kids in your class who need the extra encouragement?  You will know when it’s important.  You will figure out a way to do this.  And in doing so, you will communicate to that kid that she counts, she matters, you believe she’s worth your time and effort, and you’ll see a better student and a better kid as a result of that little lagniappe, that little something extra, you offer to the kids who need it most.

When you believe in kids and encourage them, I guarantee years from now, some adult is going to say to a friend over a cup of coffee in the break room in his engineering firm, “You know, if it hadn’t been for Ms. Crawford believing in me and spending a little extra time to help me figure out my calculus, I may well be spending my day asking the question, ‘Do you want to super-size your order?’”

And some other adult is going to say to a patient, “I don’t think I’d have become a dentist if Mr. Clark hadn’t encouraged me not to quit at biology but to take chemistry too.”

And still some other adult is going to say to someone, “My 6^th-grade teacher is why I am a teacher today.”

Who knows?  One of these days some Mary Ann Bird might be writing about the forever difference you made in her life.

When you believe in your students and invest in the particular lives of your students, they will remember you the rest of their lives, and they will rise up and call you blessed someday whether you ever know about it or not.

In some ways this may seem like a lot to ask, but really, I’m just asking you as a voice from our community, to lay hold of the ideals that brought you into teaching and coaching in the first place.  (I know it wasn’t the money.)  So lay hold of those ideals.  Believe in those kids.  Invest in those kids.  You will be disappointed sometimes, and you won’t bat 1.000.  But swing the bat.  In the 1957 World Series between the Milwaukee Braves and the New York Yankees, Hank Aaron, the great home run hitter, stepped to the plate.  Yankee catcher Yogi Berra, ever the talker, said, “Henry, you’re holding the bat wrong.  You’re supposed to hold it so you can read the trademark.”  Aaron looked back at him but didn’t say a word.  When the next pitch came, Aaron hit it into the left field bleachers.  After rounding the bases and touching home plate, Hank Aaron looked at Yogi Berra and said, “I didn’t come up here to read.”[4] 

You didn’t become a teacher just to teach math or Spanish or industrial arts.  You became a teacher to impact the lives of students.  So swing for the fences.  And man!  What a difference you will make.

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[1]http://www.beliefnet.com/columnists/fellowshipofsaintsandsinners/2012/11/the-whisper-test.html

[2]Cited in “To Illustrate,” Leadership (Fall 2001), 79.

[3]Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner (New York: Riverhead Books, 2003), 31-33.

[4]Cited by Mark Evans, Win at Life Wisdom (Little Rock, AR: Sullivan Ash Publishing, 2006), 17. 

God, the Prophets, and the USA

As we prepare to celebrate another Independence Day, I’m not in a very jovial mood about our nation.  While I deeply appreciate our freedom (which is shrinking) and the sacrifices of those on whose blood this nation has been built, I fear for our nation’s future.  

I’ve been thinking about the prophets and the nations.  Yes, the prophets were Jews.  And while they spoke words of judgment and hope for Israel and Judah, they also had something to say for God to surrounding nations too.  God is not just Israel’s God.  God is without borders or boundaries.  “The earth is the Lord’s and all its fullness, the world and all who dwell in it” (Ps. 24:1).  God is sovereign over all nations, including the good old U.S.A.  So many of God’s intentions for the nations are announced by the prophets. The prophets themselves were rather quirky and their words often heavy, pointing out sins and calling people back to God.  The prophets have a way of exposing the lies we tell ourselves and the illusions we nurture about God and our world.  They have a way of reminding us that God is large and in charge and present and at work in the current events of our lives. 

Like Isaiah reminding us that the nations are but a drop in the bucket to our holy God, and that rulers are little more than grasshoppers in His sight.  God raises them up and whenever He chooses, He blows on them and knocks them down.

Like Habakkuk reminding us that God may use even more sinful nations than our own to bring judgment to our gates.

Like Ezekiel warning us that if a country sins against God by being unfaithful and God stretches out his hand against the country by means of sword and famine and wild beasts and plague, even if Noah, Daniel, and Job lived in that country their righteousness would save only themselves and not the nation.

Like Micah speaking out against corrupt politicians, priests who are in it for themselves, and a general population complacent to it all.  He calls us instead to do justice and love mercy and walk humbly with our God.

And like Hosea reminding us that underneath God’s judgment is this stubborn love, a love that would prefer to pour out blessing, but yet a holy love that will eventually pour out wrath when His love is mocked and spurned and ignored over time—and just how much time, we don’t know.

Amos helps us too.  Amos was called away from his farm in Judah to preach God’s word to sinful Israel.  It was the 8th-century B.C. and Jereboam II was the king of Israel.  And while he was the most successful king of the North, while Israel enjoyed a season of rare prosperity and prominence, the country was a moral and spiritual wreck.  The rich got richer and the poor got poorer.  The rich oppressed the poor.  The courts were corrupt, injustice rampant, the prophets false, immorality abounded, and worship was insincere.  Still, Israel was feeling awfully big for her britches and assumed she’d have smooth sailing ahead.  She had a decisive king, a pretty strong military, and a pretty good treasury, so who needs God when you’ve got all that.  It was party time for the well-to-do in Israel, and Amos became the party-pooper.  He saw a storm brewing in the north.  He saw destruction and exile in Israel’s future.  He saw the wrath and judgment of God poured out on that nation.  And Amos preached what he saw.

Israel in Amos’ day and the United States in ours are not exactly alike.  But there are enough similarities to learn something from Amos for our day.  Amos shows us that when God sends judgment He usually does so after all kinds of opportunities for nations to turn back to the Lord in humility and confession and need.  So in the spirit of Amos’ prophecy in Amos 4, I offer these warnings for America in this season of our history.

“I allowed terrorists to bring your nation to its knees and while the churches were full for a couple of Sundays and folks sang God Bless America a thousand times, you did not return to me,” says the Lord.  Instead, you took your government’s advice and went shopping.

“I have allowed floods on one town and drought on another, yet you have not returned to me,” says the Lord.

“I have allowed fires in one place, hurricanes and tornadoes in another, and yet you have not returned to me,” says the Lord.

“I have have allowed inflation and recession and loss of jobs and the fear that comes with it to wreck havoc in your nation, and yet you have not returned to me,” says the Lord.

“I have allowed you to stretch your nation thin militarily and financially so that great calamity could befall you in the future, and yet you have not returned to me,” says the Lord.

Such happenings should call us back to God.  Such things should humble us.  Such things should remind us that our hope is not in politics or candidates or governments or armies.  Our hope, our only hope, is in God.

So, America and the American church, let’s humble ourselves, turn from our sins, seek the Lord God, and live.  God is patient.  But sooner or later God says, “Enough.”  Who will join me in praying for renewal and revival and the mercy of God on our wayward, sinful nation?  Though I’m not very hopeful, I’m praying we turn back to God before it’s too late to turn back at all.

Of Weddings and Funerals and Pastors

Every now and then, someone will ask me, “Pastor, which do you prefer to officiate: a wedding or a funeral?” 

“A funeral,” I say (usually to their dismay), “because funerals always take.  Too many of my weddings have ended in divorce, but everyone for whom I’ve ever done a funeral is still dead.”

Weddings and funerals are where pastors live.  I’ve officiated at a few hundred of both.  That makes us pastors something of experts on those subjects.  And today, at a funeral, as the door swung open to move the casket to the hearse, it struck me that funerals and weddings are really very much alike.  Here’s what struck me: when the chapel doors opened, the noisy conversation of people gathered outside the chapel sounded as much like a wedding as a funeral.  There was noisy chatter, some laughter, and just the buzz of a multitude of voices ringing in my ears.  If someone had blind-folded me and dropped me into that crowd, I couldn’t have guessed if I’d been dropped at a wedding or a funeral or maybe even a Black Friday customer line waiting for Best Buy to open.

Weddings and funerals do have a lot in common.  Both can cost the family a king’s ransom.  Both include something of an ending and something of a beginning.  Both invite tears, though usually for different reasons.  Both include, for some in attendance, the grief of letting go.  Both create, in our mobile culture, the rare opportunity of family reunion.  Both are rites-of-passage.  And for Christians, both are tied to worship and deeply connected to Christ and the church.

Oh, and one more thing: both usually call for a pastor to say a few words and perform a few rituals.  We stand before the people, praying that God will give us words that point people to Christ, that the attention will be focused on the bride and groom or on the deceased and her family rather than on ourselves, and that we can bring just the right measure of celebration and solemnity that both of those services demand.  Some pastors make it look easy.  It’s not.

So the next time you’re sitting in a church or a funeral chapel, waiting for the bride to enter or the pallbearers to take their place, would you please whisper a little prayer for the officiating pastor?  Pray that God will give him or her peace, words, and a demeanor scented with the fragrance of Christ.  And since for us pastors, funerals and weddings have so many similarities and often run together in our calendars, pray that we will never get the two mixed up. 

I Could Sure Use That Squirrel

While thumbing through the morning paper a couple of weeks ago, I came across a delightful story.  Brian Genest, a 17-year-old from Maine, was taking a walk through John Chestnut Park in Tampa, Florida.  He saw what appeared to be a friendly squirrel relaxing on a handrail.  Genest reached for his phone, put it in camera mode, and decided to take a “selfie” of himself and the squirrel.

Click!  Flash!  And the squirrel went berserk.  He jumped Genest’s back, crawled under his shirt, and did what panicked squirrels do in that situation.  It was not pleasant.  “He was just in that spot where my arm can’t reach him,” Genest said.  “I threw myself on the ground, and that scared him off.”

In a day when most of us are more into self-love, self-expression, self-fulfillment, selfishness, and selfies than we are into self-denial, self-sacrifice and self-discipline, we could use more squirrels like that one.  I know I could.  What if every time we were poised to do something self-centered, some squirrel jumped down our back—you know, enough to take us to the ground and get us thinking about God and others more than self.  I think I’d be more Christ-like, more a giver than a taker, and more Christ-centered and other-centered than self-centered.

Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Lk. 9:23).  Jesus calls us to keep Him at the center and keep ourselves on the edges.  God’s given us the Holy Spirit to empower us to choose the Lord and others over self.  And while the Spirit is a great help, my bent toward self is so pervasive I could still use that squirrel.  How about you?  

He Never Knew the Difference He Made

Count me as one of those Americans who grieves the fact that most of our World War II veterans are gone now.  These are the men who impacted my life in so many ways, and America is diminished without them.  So on this Memorial weekend, let me share a story from a surprising email I received just a few weeks ago.

The email came via our church’s website.  It came from Michael Hurst, a Canadian, a Christian, businessman and historian who has lived and worked in Taiwan since 1997.  He’s devoted the past 17 years of his life to researching the story of the Allied prisoners of war held captive by the Japanese in Taiwan during World War II.  In the last 17 years, Michael has found and contacted more than 500 of the former 4,375 POWs who were held in camps there.  He wants their sacrifices and their stories to be told.

As he interviewed these former POWs, he kept hearing a particular name over and over again.  That name is Kenneth Scott.  Ken served aboard the Escort Carrier USS Santee, ship involved in rescuing and evacuating POWs from Taiwan in September, 1945.  Michael had been searching for Ken more than 15 years.  He finally found what he hoped was a connection through First Baptist Church of Hot Springs, Arkansas—thus, the shot-in-the-dark email.

That shot-in-the-dark hit the bulls-eye.  Ken had been a member of our church from 2001 until his death just after this past Christmas.  Michael wanted to find Ken so he could tell Ken what a profound difference he had made in the lives of so many of those POWs.  Numbers of those POWs told Michael that as they were on their way to Manila from Taiwan on the Santee, they received a visit from Kenneth Scott.  He came around to visit them and gave them a little Gideon’s New Testament and Psalms with a blue cover.  They were so moved at this act of kindness, and it brought them such comfort and encouragement to know someone cared for them.  Most of the men had lost all their possessions as POWs, and this was the first new thing they had to begin their new life as free men.  Some were helped greatly through the trauma they had to endure post-war as there was no PTSD counselling available back then.

Michael shared a couple of stories.  Here’s the first one:

Very early on in my work, one POW contacted me who had received the Testament and was still so thrilled that he cherished it and wanted to return it to either Kenneth or his family in memory of what he had done for him.  At first the POW sent me a photocopy of the cover and the inside page of the Testament to me help me trace Kenneth.  Later he personally gave me the Testament for our POW Museum collection and I have it and cherish it even more now.  When I visit schools and put on displays, I always include Kenneth's Testament in the display and tell the story of how this sailor gave it to one of the POWs after rescue.  People are always moved and blessed by the story.

And here’s the second:

I had another contact from the daughter of a former POW who had passed away in recent years and she told me that her father was not a particularly religious man but that he kept that Testament and cherished it dearly because of the act of kindness and love shown by Kenneth in giving it to him.  Later I received other notes and photocopies of Testaments and pages from other Santee POWs and they all had Kenneth's name written inside of them with exactly the same stamp and information.

Michael assumed Kenneth must have been a chaplain.  He was not.  He was a simple sailor.  Kenneth told me some about his war experiences.  His ship, the Santee, was among the ships involved in the first Japanese kamikaze attacks on American naval forces.  Ken said, “When those planes started diving right toward our ship, we really had to screw up our courage and just try to keep doing our jobs.”  He told me some stories, but he never said one word about giving the New Testament.  Not one word.  I don’t think his family knew anything about it either.

I suspect that Kenneth just did that because he was a Christian man trying to follow Jesus’ command to do for others what you would have them do for you.  He must have figured a New Testament would help mend his life had he been broken every way a man can be broken in a Japanese prison camp.  So he gave the Testaments.  Knowing Ken, I am confident he did it with no fanfare or search for notoriety.  He was just trying to share a witness of the love of God for men whose experience must have surely made so many of them doubt it.  And what an impact Ken’s small act of kindness made on so many of those men!

Now here’s the kicker: I don’t think Ken ever had a clue God had used his life to do such good and to give such hope to broken men.

Well, he does now.  Ken died at the end of this past December.  And what a thrill and surprise he must have experienced when waiting at the gate to greet him were many of those POWs who had preceded him there.  I can imagine the conversation:

“That New Testament changed the course of my life.”

“God used the message of that Testament to help mend my broken places.”

“When you gave me that Bible I had assumed everyone except my mother had forgotten me.  But you didn’t.  And God didn’t.  And trusting in the Jesus in that New Testament is why I’m here today.”

Wow!  It must have been incredible.  I can see Ken with a look of shock and surprise, quietly turning attention away from himself to the Lord who had come to greet him too.  And I can see Ken whispering to Jesus, “I didn’t have a clue.  I never even knew.”  To which Jesus smiled a broad smile and whispered back, “But I knew, Ken.  I knew.  Well done, good and faithful servant.  Enter into the joy of your Master!”

Not all veteran stories are of military exploits and heroics.  Some are just Christian people acting like Christians in the midst of the violence and the death and the brokenness of war.  That’s Kenneth’s story.

What was it Paul wrote to the Corinthians?

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain (1 Cor. 15:57).

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For more information on Michael Hurst’s work check out his website: www.powtaiwan.org

Have We Lost Our Minds?

Those of you who read my blog posts know that I rarely engage in social commentary—now and then, but not often.  Well, this post is going to be one of those now and then times.  Unless you live on another planet, and especially if you live in Twitter world, you’ve witnessed yet another chapter in the unholy crusade to force Americans to legitimize homosexual behavior as “normal” and “heroic.”  The St. Louis Rams drafted Michael Sam in the seventh round.  Sam, a pretty good defensive lineman from the University of Missouri, decided a few months ago to make public his homosexual proclivities.  He was the first football player to do so.  And the media swooned.  Sports Illustrated put him on its cover—not because of his football skills but because of his declaration.  He is hailed a hero in many circles.  Really?  Maybe there was a day when that declaration took guts.  Now it’s commonplace.  But it got him a Sports Illustrated cover and a congratulatory call from the President of the United States—far more attention than his football ever brought him.  So the Rams drafted him late.  Hey, if he wants to be public about his homosexuality, that’s his business.  (Of course, by going public in a bold way he really wants to make it everybody’s business.)  And if the Rams want to draft him and inherit not only what could be a good player but the media circus that comes with it, that’s their business.  I’ve got no beef with that.  It’s a free country.  Live and let live.

But I do have a beef with this: a Miami Dolphins player, Don Jones, who played college ball at Arkansas State, tweeted upon Sam’s draft announcement “OMG” and “Horrible.”  And the man was crucified: he was fined, told to take down those two tweets, dismissed from participating with the team till he could get his act (uh, their act) together, and ordered to go to some sort of “educational training.”  I’m not making this up.

And I read a couple of days ago that a similar thing happened with Marshall Henderson, a show-off, big mouth, but darn good basketball player at Ole Miss.  Here’s his beef: ESPN’s SportsCenter decided to air (over and over) Michael Sam’s kiss of his boyfriend after the news came that he was drafted.  Henderson tweeted that he would be boycotting SportsCenter because he thought it was inappropriate to show that kiss.  To paraphrase Henderson, “I’ve got two brothers who are 7 and 11 and I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to see that.”  That took Henderson to the front of the line for the next batch of tar and feathers.  He was corrected by the Ole Miss Athletic Director.   He had to recant.  He changed his story to say the tweet was some kind of “experiment” for a friend who studies psychology—you know, to check people’s reactions.  And like Jones, Henderson will be forced to endure some kind of “training” until he can spout the party line that homosexual behavior is “normal” and “heroic.”

Here’s the deal: for most of human history and certainly American history, homosexual behavior was considered deviant sexual behavior.  I took Abnormal Psych in college in the mid-70s.  The text explained that it was the first edition of that text not to classify homosexual behavior as “abnormal.”  Science is inconclusive as to whether a person is “born” that way or if it’s a learned behavior or just another moral choice a human being makes.  And yet when someone expresses a view that’s supported by most history, much science, and the historic ethical systems of the major religions that declare homosexual behavior as immoral or sinful, in today’s culture that person is considered abnormal and out of step.  And I'm not talking about the hateful, vicious taunts of the Westboro Baptist Church crowd here (even though they have the freedom to be jerks).  I'm talking about people just speaking their mind on the subject.  If they have First Amendment rights, why must they be censored, punished, and “trained” until they get it right?  Or in the case of Mozilla CEO Brendan Eich, fired because he contributed a thousand bucks six years ago to Proposition 8, a California initiative to prevent legalization of gay marriage in that state.  Have we lost our minds?

We’ve become a nation of the thin-skinned.  Inherent in the freedom of speech is the possibility that someone will say something to you or about you or about one of your cherished viewpoints that you find offensive and hurtful.  But instead of dealing with this like grown-ups, like people who are truly free, we have made offending someone else one of culture’s chief sins.  We cry and pout like babies. Harry Truman said, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”  I don’t care if you’re a homosexual or a devoted Christian or a Muslim or a Star Trek fan—if you don’t want to take some heat about your identity, then don’t be so in-your-face, public about it; keep it to yourself or within the circle of people you know who won’t challenge you or give you a hard time.  That goes for the Michael Sams and the Tim Tebows of the world.  Just shut up and live your life.  Or risk living with the abuse that comes from being so public about it.

And please don’t assume that people who speak against your identity hate you or are scared of you.  Maybe they feel this way.  Maybe they don’t.  It’s possible to love people and treat them with respect whether you agree with their lifestyle or not.  Why can’t we just agree to disagree?  Sam goes public with his homosexuality; Jones calls his draft horrible—why aren’t both free to express their views without Jones getting hammered?  ESPN airs the homosexual kiss; Henderson doesn’t like it—why can’t both be free to express their views without Henderson having to be retrained?    

Well, it seems most people are willing to cut each other some slack here in many areas—especially in politics where candidates routinely lie about one another without repercussion or retraining.  But there’s no slack to be cut in this issue of homosexual behavior.  So at the risk of someone wanting to send me to some kind of “sensitivity training,” let me share my take on these matters.  I believe homosexual behavior is a sin on the same scale as heterosexual behavior that is outside of God’s boundary of marriage.  All sexual sin is a reflection of the brokenness of our sexuality.  And sexual sin, like all other sins (pride, idolatry, greed, selfishness, murder, stealing, etc.), required the death and resurrection of a sinless Jesus Christ to redeem it and heal it and save us from the penalty and the power of it.  Though it may still be a struggle, in Christ and by the power of the Holy Spirit, we don’t have to be slaves to our sins any more. 

I also believe marriage is clearly defined in the Bible and in thousands of years of human history as a relationship between a man and a woman.  I’m opposed to sanctioning homosexual marriage (as an Arkansas Circuit judge did this week).  Call their relationship a civil union if you want but don’t call it a marriage.  This is not just a matter of semantics in my judgment.  Marriage is not just two people living together in a committed relationship but a man and a woman living together in a committed relationship.  Because I take this stance, does that mean I hate persons who identify themselves as homosexual since I disagree with them on these matters?  No—no more than it means I hate the couple that chooses to live together before marriage or the man or woman who commits adultery or the man who struggles with pornography.  Is it possible to call sin sin and love sinners?  Yes.  God is able to do this, and we can do this too.  As C. S. Lewis once pointed out, we treat ourselves that way every day.  And do my views on sexual sin mean that I need some kind of “training” so I can fit in with current cultural trends?  No.  I think I get what they’re teaching.  They run that course in the media every day of the week.  Here’s the short version: Sex however you want it, with the exception of children (for now), is culture’s highest value.  And disagreeing with or offending someone about the morality of their sexual preferences is culture’s chief sin. 

This is symptomatic of a larger issue in contemporary American culture: human beings are essentially reduced to little more than sexual beings.  Witness all the sex talk, sexy music videos, magazine covers, advertisements adorned with scantily clad men and women, ED and male enhancement ads, churches fussing over homosexuality, and this orchestrated crusade to have society legitimize and normalize one’s sexual identity as if that’s the most important thing, the essentially defining thing, about any individual.  Is sex really a human being's greatest good?  Is orgasm our highest aspiration?  As Will Willimon wrote, “We simply cannot imagine any fully human being who is not driven by genitalia.”[1]  So I ask again: have we lost our minds?

But back to the issue at hand: while I'm more sympathetic in this issue with Jones and Henderson, I do wish Michael Sam well in his NFL career.  I hope he succeeds like I hope all those draft picks (especially my Razorback draftees) succeed.  What athlete doesn't dream to make it in the bigs some day?  But won’t it be interesting to watch what happens if Michael doesn’t make the team (like so many seventh-rounders don’t)?  The Rams are media darlings now, but I suspect they will catch you-know-what if they don’t make a place for him on the roster. Because sadly, I’m afraid we have lost our minds and this situation really isn’t just about football anymore.

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[1]William H. Willimon, Why Jesus? (Nashville: Abingdon, 2010), 71.  

Namibia and Beyond

Some months ago, missionaries Bryan and Dana Bullington invited me to help lead a conference for church leaders in Windhoek, Namibia.  He titled the conference This City Matters.  Bryan didn’t have to ask me twice.  I was all in.  My assignment was to develop the biblical/theological basis for God’s love for cities and the urgency for cross-cultural missions.  Other conference leaders focused on matters theological and practical that impact life in the city: the gospel, technology, demonization, fatherlessness, and sex-saturation.  The conference began on Thursday evening and we didn’t say the amen over it until Sunday evening.

Here are some of my takeaways from the experience:

Most people don’t know where Namibia is.  I wasn’t sure myself.  As I was preparing for the trip, several people told me that were praying for me and my trip to Nambia (no doubt confusing Namibia with nearby Zambia).  Namibia was once called Soutwest Africa.  It is tucked into the southwest corner of Africa bordering South Africa on the east and the Atlantic Ocean on the west.  It is high desert—Windhoek is slightly higher in elevation than Denver.  And the country has a strong German and English heritage.

Some of the locals fondly refer to Namibia as Africa-lite.  I’ve been four times to West Africa with its desert conditions, extreme temperatures, difficult roads, and Muslim culture.  The people are wonderful and hospitable but the conditions are challenging.  Not so in Namibia.  It felt more like Europe than Africa.  The city of Windhoek, anyway, is highly developed.  You can even drink the water.   

I didn’t need a translator.  This is very rare for a foreign mission trip.  The citizens all speak English.  Heck, some of them speak it better than I do.  English and Afrikans are the local languages.  Most are fluent in both.  In terms of preparation that meant that I got to prepare twice as much as usual when I preach or teach on a foreign field.  That felt a little weird, but it was nice and I think increased communication between conference participants and myself.

I served among a company of heroes.  I was the only pastor among the conference leaders.  The other leaders are current missionaries.  One of the leaders is a retired missionary—he and his wife have long been my missionary heroes.  These are people who have completely sold out to Jesus Christ.  They have been willing to go wherever He leads them.  They all live half a world away from most of their family.  They serve in challenging settings.  They have a big vision, broad experience, a vital faith, a rich sense of humor, and a burning desire to see people from every nation, tribe, and tongue come to know Jesus.  And every day of their lives is given to that end.  I learned so much from each one of them.  I wasn’t worthy of the company I was keeping.

The city matters.  That was the theme of the conference, and it couldn’t be more on target.  Currently 81% of the population of the USA and Canada live in cities.  And by 2050 75% of the world’s population will live in urban areas.  Paul took the gospel to cities.  God loves cities.  Reach the cities, reach the world.

For a first try the conference was a success.  Over 120 registered.  Most were from Windhoek.  Four came from neighboring Botswana.  This kind of thing had never been tried before, so who knew how it might go.  Bryan and the New Song Family Church who organized and staffed it were pleased.  I can’t say enough about the quality of volunteers who put the conference together and made it happen.  They enlisted the help of musicians from other Windhoek churches and utilized a speaker from the local Campus Crusade for Christ.  It was a team effort and God blessed. 

It’s time for Namibia to become a sending nation.  More than one local person told me that like most of Africa Namibia has been a receiving nation when it comes to missions.  Missionaries come to Namibia.  But it’s time for Namibia to send missionaries deeper into their own city and local people groups.  It’s time for the church in Namibia to send missionaries into other places in the outlying regions of their own country and other countries in Africa that need the gospel.  It’s time for this to happen.  I get a big smile on my face just thinking of the impact this could have on the kingdom of God, not to mention the Christians and churches of Namibia.

Oh, and on a lighter note, two last takeaways.  First, I got to spend a few hours on a game safari in which I saw lions and giraffes and cheetahs and kudu and hembock and springbok and wildebeest and elephants and hippos and crocs.  To see them from a Range Rover in their natural habitat was pretty cool.  Second, on the flight over and the flight back I destroyed the competition in the In-Flight Trivia game.  Why my feeble little mind retains essentially unimportant information is beyond me.  But it’s always nice to be a winner.

And here’s the larger truth: anyone who takes a missional step is a winner.  Anyone who prays and gives and goes and shares and seeks first the kingdom of God above all things is a first-rate winner.  Thanks for praying for me, the conference, and the leaders.  God answered many of your prayers and, I believe, will continue to answer them in the days and months to come.