It was after midnight when we finally pulled to a stop at the end of the road. We had been watching the fire rip through the high country for over an hour as we drove next to the Kings River.

Our crew truck passed others looking up as the flames devoured acres of ponderosa pine and manzanita brush a dozen miles and several thousand feet up the steep canyon wall. Some of the on-lookers seemed afraid but all were impressed with the power of the blaze and the glow that lit up the night sky.

One huge difference set our thoughts of the fire apart from the on-lookers. They were wondering if this fire would interrupt their vacation plans camping in the Sequoia National Forest. We were calculating how difficult it was going to be to walk to the fire’s edge and how scared we would be when we arrived.

They were tourists; we were the Fulton Hotshots—one of a handful of elite firefighting crews from Southern California. The hotter the fire, the more dangerous the terrain, the more sure we were that we would join the other hotshot crews of the west on the fire line.

(more…)

Take a walk with me. After a few minutes we step off the path, and quietly watch the people passing by. They’re all moving along so quickly they ignore our smiling hello. Most of them lug backpacks full of stuff they might need for the day. One arm is bent toward their ear with a cell phone at the end of it and the other carries all the things they couldn’t get in their pack. Those with Bluetooth devices carry on a conversation while sipping on a Starbucks and reading their latest text message.

Faster and faster they go, until they reach a fork in the road. There the travelers hurriedly bother themselves with the necessity of returning to the present. Frantically, they make their decision and scurry onward.

“Look at these people,” we remark. “What’s wrong with them? Where are they going in such a hurry? They don’t even take the time to return a smile…they seem so shallow.”

An older man sitting on a bench hears our conversation and laughs. “Would it surprise you to discover that all of these people are Christians?” He explains, “This path is a shortcut from the front door of a Christians-only apartment complex and the bus stop.”

(more…)

I’m fascinated by Luke’s account of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem on Monday, just four days before His crucifixion. As the crowd worshiped Him as a Moses-like liberator who would end their slavery to Rome and lead them to the good life in their land flowing with milk and honey, Jesus burst into tears (Luke 19:28-44).

We know that the Lord’s grief had to do with the coming destruction of Jerusalem (43-44), but it also had to do with the shallow peace they clamored after.

Jesus could see through the festive atmosphere of the Passover that energized the mass hysteria. He could see into their hearts.

(more…)

One or two days after most of us receive the free gift of salvation by believing in Jesus, some religious person is going to start working on us to “straighten out our life.” We’re scolded for our shortcomings and shamed for our indulgences. It doesn’t take long for the message of a toxic, performance-based spiritual community to penetrate our soul.

Grace, it seems, stops the moment I receive Christ. Now it’s all about doing and not doing, measuring up and staying within boundaries. Intuitively, I learn to do what everyone else has learned to do with the real me—especially the broken and weak parts. I hide “me” from them.

Count on it my friend. If your spiritual community bases spirituality on performance, the putrid odor of hidden sins and the festering wounds of unspoken pain lie just below the surface. Plastic smiles and placebo sentences band aid the truth, and everyone has learned to ignore the malaise of real life.

But the most serious impact of “jumping-through-hoops spirituality” isn’t on relationships within this nauseous faith community. It’s the impact it has on your relationship with God that’s so damaging. You learn to try to hide from Him with these same plastic smiles and placebo sentences. You approach God dishonestly by praying disingenuous prayers. And so, you tell Him the same lies you tell others fearing the transparency that would betray you. “If He really knows me,” we reason, “He will not care for me as much as I need Him to care.”

(more…)

Could You Pray for Me?

I was standing on the lawn talking with people after our Sunday services. A young lady I’d never met stood off to the side with one of those, “I have to tell you something” looks every pastor knows.

When the crowd cleared, I walked over to her. “Thank you for being so patient. My name is Ed, how can I help you?”

Tears streamed down her face. “Could you pray for me, please?”

I would love to.

(more…)

Mark’s account of the last day of Jesus of Nazareth’s earthly life stresses the irony of the Lord’s civil trial, crucifixion, and burial.

• Unwittingly, His enemies fulfill prophecy to the letter and even speak the correct interpretation of the events.
• Pilate, representing Roman might, cannot prevent His crucifixion. Mocking soldiers hail Him as King of the Jews.
• People who have never read Isaiah 53 and Psalm 22 and wouldn’t have believed it if they did, make decisions and speak words that ensure that the prophet and the poet’s ancient words are literally fulfilled.

Not one small detail or one word was outside the sovereign power of our God.

(more…)

Talk about bodacious!

On the night He was betrayed, Jesus told Peter and the disciples that Zechariah 13:7 referred to them personally, and that it was going to happen shortly:

“All of you will be made to stumble because of Me this night, for it is written, ‘I will strike the Shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.’ But after I have been raised, I will go before you to Galilee” (Mark 14:27-28).

You’d think that should settle it, especially for Peter. The One he properly identified as “the Christ, the Son of the Living God” told them that God’s Word would be fulfilled in their lives. He even offered an assuring promise of His coming resurrection and their soon regathering after the crisis.

But not for Peter. No, Peter had something for Jesus. He would prove to Him that Peter, not God was in control of this night. Peter, not God, would determine if Messiah should die. Peter, not God, would decide who would scatter and who wouldn’t.

“Hold on there Jesus, that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch. I will never forsake you. These other weaklings might fold, but not me. I’m Peter, and I don’t need God!”

(more…)

My beloved mentor and pastor from our Jesus Movement days, Ted Stone, is on his way to heaven. A deadly brain tumor diminishes him a little more each day. Sometimes he has the energy to talk on the phone when I call. I cherish his sentences. He pauses, gathers his strength, and says, “Eddie, I want to tell you something. I may never get the opportunity to say this to you….”

I hold my breath and wait for Ted to speak. It’s an awesome and holy moment as this man who loves me, and in so many ways has given his life for me, and others in the body of Christ, begins. I know I’ll remember every word until the day Jesus greets me in heaven with Ted at His side.

This was the atmosphere in the upper room. These were Jesus’ final words to His disciples. In just a few minutes dark and ominous events would leave them alone and afraid. Tomorrow at this time He would be dead, crucified by Rome and laid in a rich man’s tomb.

And what did He say to them? Remember Me!

(more…)

After I finished my book, When God Breaks Your Heart, detailing my journey of faith living with a deadly disease, I thought I had said it all.

I’m discovering that there are days I just have to tell you one more thing. Today is one of those days.

It was April in 2000 when I wrote this desperate prayer and accompanying plea from Scripture in my journal:

Father, please give me ministry in my grandchildren’s lives. “Let Your work appear to Your servants, and Your glory to their children” (Psalm 90:16).

If you knew me back then or you’ve read the book, you know how bold that request was. I had nearly died in March and had not improved much since. The doctors were suspecting lymphoma, and following test after test, what they called my “numbers” refused to turn around.

I remember the day I wrote those sentences in my blood-stained journal vividly. Tears flowed as I begged God to let me have some influence in my grandchildren’s lives. Back then I was only thinking of two–Jackson and Megan.

I’m writing these words from my son’s home in Atlanta, where we just greeted Amelia Joy,who joins Jackson, Megan, Camryn, Mary, and Wyatt. Grandchild number 7–Zachary James–is now 10 months old.

I’m thinking of Saturday, the 10th of January 2009, when I spent the day with Amelia’s older sister and brother, Mary and Wyatt. I watched Mary’s skating lessons and Wyatt’s hockey practice. I was vaguely aware of some other children on the ice, but my heart glued my attention to one little twirling princess and one little bruiser in pads.

On the way home, Wyatt put his little arms around my neck and shouted, “We’re best pals!”

The Spirit reminded me one more time of the power of prayer and the comfort of being loved by a God who is perfectly reliable and strong.

I don’t know what’s breaking your heart today, but I suspect something is.

God knows, and He loves it when you ask Him for big things. You never know, He might just say yes.

Just like He did for me.

Thank you, Father, for hearing my desperate prayer. And for that almost-nine-years-later reminder from a blue-eyed little hockey star that You, not my doctors, number my days.

Nothing excites me more than to hear someone say that they want to live all-out for the Lord Jesus. My pastoral heart moves toward them and Judy and I start pouring our lives into them.

There’s always some initial excitement and a lot of marvelous reports concerning God’s powerful movement in everyday life.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s happening at work. I’ve only been praying for this guy for two days. Out of nowhere he said, ‘Tell me about your church.’”

“We had no idea how we would survive if we gave what we felt God was telling us to give to the church. But we did it. The next day my boss came in to tell me that she was so pleased with my work that he had decided to give me a promotion.”

Even as the reports bubble out I’m always praying for them because I know what’s coming.

(more…)