Category Archives: faith

I’m Tired of Hearing that You’re Pro-Life

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of hearing people support a political candidate based on one issue – abortion.

I’m going to suggest three reasons why it’s a problem to make abortion the one and only campaign issue.

It’s Dishonest

People who chose to use the term “pro-life” rather than abortion, are not being honest – with themselves or with anyone else. If you are truly “pro-life,” then you would equally oppose capital punishment, war, and indiscriminate gun ownership. These are all pro-life issues. I don’t know of anyone in the pro-life movement who believes abortion, capital punishment, and war should be eliminated and guns severely restricted. They are not really pro-life.

If you honestly want to be pro-life, then continue to advocate for eliminating abortion but also stand up against capital punishment, identify as a conscientious objector, and advocate for stricter gun control laws. If you want to be especially serious about pro-life, then you should also work to eliminate poverty, demand health care for everyone, and do what you can to stop climate change. In fact, to be pro-life, the list is almost endless – drive the speed limit and follow all safety laws, speak out against the tobacco industry, seek out ways to help people fight obesity, stop posting hateful messages on social media, demand fair treatment of immigrants and people of all races.Pro-Life

It’s Dumb

My second reason is that being a one-issue political supporter is dumb. You are essentially saying that nothing else matters. “Take us to war, eliminate Social Security, be immoral and dishonest, raise taxes, ignore every other problem because I don’t care as long as you claim to be anti-abortion, you have my vote.”

It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but it’s precisely what has happened. We have countless officeholders who have nothing to offer except a claim to be against abortion. We have politicians in place who know they are safe and can do whatever they want because they were elected because of one position and they know you will vote for them regardless of anything else they do. Continue reading

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Facebook Memories

At the top of my Facebook newsfeed this morning was one of those reminders of something posted on this date in the past. The one for today went back ten years to New Year’s Day, 2010. Most of these reminders are interesting, but this one especially caught my attention.

Ten years ago I was in the hospital. If I said I was hanging onto life by a thread, it would sound overly dramatic but it’s true. After spending nearly two weeks in the hospital, these are the words I posted on Facebook that will probably show up under my memories sometime later this month.Annotation 2020-01-01 160258

“After twelve days in the hospital, I am finally at home – feeling well, weak, and grateful. I have spent the past few hours reading your messages, wiping away tears, and amazed at what happened. This is my report to my family and friends, who I discovered in greater legion than I anticipated.

No one should really care about all the messy details, but just let me say, I was lying in a hospital bed, diagnosed with CHF, being told that my kidneys might have already applied for retirement, and my doctors decided the best course of action was to insert about twelve feet of Goodyear bicycle inner tube down my throat in order to help me breathe.

A time when my family felt most helpless (not quite hopeless). My own feelings of hopelessness did not really matter because I was too far away mentally to understand either hope or hopeless. Nearly three full days of the experience have been expunged from my memory with the precision of a Hoover. We were desperate for God to do something. 

Although I was only semi-conscious during the worst part of the ordeal, I still had my own low point. It was when I was aroused enough to recognize portions of the experience and I remember staring at the off-white sheetrock wall of my hospital room, containing nothing more than a red light switch and an orange decorated hazmat storage box. At that moment, I honestly believed that I had died and gone to heaven. However, the encumbrance of the ventilator and the uncomfortableness of the entire situation caused me great disappointment – I had higher expectations of heaven. We all needed God to do something. 

The doctor called the house early on Monday morning to speak with Sharon. He asked if we had a “Living Will.” That kind of question in that particular scenario grabs your attention. He explained how the lung problem was leading to a kidney problem, and the knee bone is connected to the thigh bone, and that inserting the tube was the best (or perhaps only) solution. I don’t think any of us felt desperate, but this is one of those sandy places in life where you do not want to erect a foundation.

Then a miracle happened!

The ventilator was inserted, and the vigil begun to see what God would do. And, God did not disappoint anyone. It was an amazing week of answered prayer, physical feats, and unmistakable encounters. I will not even attempt to explain what happened in this short thanksgiving missive but let me encourage you to stay tuned. The book has already been titled and outlined.

As I said earlier, I am home gaining strength. I would love to speak to each of you individually, but there were so many friends and family prayer warriors that the number is inestimable. There must have been at least fifty people on the hospital staff that came by my bed to complement me on my wonderful family. I felt like a preacher at the conclusion of an especially good sermon having to accept all the accolades. If the sermon was really that good, then you need to give God the credit. I kept saying to these complementors, “God has really blessed my life.”

You are one of those who have been used by God to bless my life. Thank you.

I hope you will allow me to share the “rest of the story” over the next few months. I am coming off one of the lowest and one of the highest times of my life at the same time. Through your prayers and support, you allowed me to see a miracle – an amazing sight.”

So, when I saw this today, it caused me to reflect on the past ten years, a complete decade of my life has passed since this happened. I have long considered this borrowed time anyway, but it has proven to be much more. I had polio as a very young boy. I remember calculating that since I was born in 1950, by the year 2000, I would be 50 years old and that’s all I ever expected from my weak body. I’m highly pleased for the extra 20 years and certainly would not object to another 20. But much has happened in the past ten, since my hospital ordeal.

The following is the list of major events in my life since the calendar has read twenty-teens.

  • The greatest man I ever knew or will ever know, my father, died. He taught me everything I needed to know about living.
  • I changed occupations, from church consultation to writer and book publisher. In 10 years, I have been able to build a business that pays the bills and keeps me challenged and growing.
  • After more than 40 years and probably close to a half-a-million miles, I gave up driving. The last drive was a Sunday trip to preach at a small church west of town. I no longer felt comfortable that I had enough strength in my arms to control the car. When I arrived at home, I told Sharon that I was done. (Sharon will tell you that I still have much to learn about being a “back-seat-driver.”)
  • My son Matthew married in one of the most fun weddings I have attended. It was a great evening, and he hit the jackpot with Tina.
  • We picked up nine grandkids to add to our first, Noah, who is now in college.
  • Our youngest son Andrew was deployed by the Army to Afghanistan. I checked for casualty reports every day for nine months and finally rested when he came back home to his family.
  • After visiting nearly every church within a reasonable distance from our house, Sharon and I decided to leave the institutional church with the conviction that there must be a better way. Along those same lines, I no longer identify myself as an “evangelical,” not because my theology or behavior has changed, but because the word doesn’t mean much any longer.
  • Sharon and I celebrated our 40th and 45th anniversary during the past decade.

I hope this post greets me first thing in the morning on January 1, 2030. I’ll be 79 years old, hopefully married 55 plus years and reminiscing about a long list of great things once again. It’s in God’s hands and if He chooses something else, I’m good with that also.

I mentioned that my father taught me everything I needed to know about life. One of his most frequent lessons occurred when I talked to him about a problem. His solution was always the same and it has always worked. I don’t see any reason to change his advice. No matter what problem I encountered, he always told me to “trust the Lord!” He always did, and I try hard to follow his example.

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Will Your Church Pay Off Your Debts?

There’s an interesting trend in churches today that is designed to help struggling families pay their medical debt. You’ve probably seen the headlines—a church in Kansas eliminated $2.2 million, another in Illinois covered $4 million. Even a small church in Maryland paid off $1.9 million. It’s a movement that is picking up steam.

This is a good thing. Helping the poor should be a primary mission of the church. For most of my life, it has been a back-burner concern for the church, so it’s nice to see it given the attention it deserves. Or is it? What is this all about.

When a person has medical debts they can’t pay, they are cycled through a series of collection agencies. When a collector is unsuccessful, they will sell the debt to another collector at a reduced rate. This might happen a half a dozen times before it is finally considered a lost cause. All of this is after the original creditor has written off the amount as a loss.Medical Debt

All the while, the person who owes the debt must deal with harassing phone calls, angry letters, and threats to sue. As you can imagine, their credit is trashed as delinquencies are added to their report each month. By the time the collectors give up, the debtor has ruined credit and lost hope of ever paying it off.

Along comes one final attempt. An enterprising company swoops up the unpaid notes by paying pennies on the dollar. They then bundle it up and sell it in huge chunks. If you want to cancel a person’s debt, give this company $100, and they will wipe out a $10,000 note. In other words, the debts are being settled for 1% of the debt. I’m not sure, but I suspect the debt was reduced substantially before being sold off, so the reality is that it is far less than 1%.

Churches realize they can “help” hundreds of families by paying off millions of dollars in debt with a small amount of money. For every $10,000 raised, they can wipe out $1 million of debt. It sounds like a win/win. Everybody should be happy.

There are winners in this scenario. The companies that organize this whole thing are probably the biggest winner (check out www.ripmedicaldebt.org). The church garners great publicity and members feel good about themselves. Perhaps even the debtor might feel better getting rid of an albatross that was given up for dead years ago.

However, if the church really wants to help the poor, there is a much better way. The first and most obvious suggestion I could make is to stop fighting against every effort to make health care affordable. In case you don’t understand what I’m saying, you Republicans need to come up with a health care plan that benefits the poor instead of stonewalling every effort made by others. Many of you are in the church, so you should understand God’s concern for the poor.

A second suggestion is to assist the poor before their credit is trashed, and they are beaten down by collectors. Latch on to these folks when they leave the hospital, not after they’ve been struggling for years to pay the debts. Help them when your help is still valuable. It might not be as flashy, and it certainly won’t show up in newspaper headlines, but it will be more practical and helpful.

A third idea is to not give your money to an organization that is buying up this debt and selling it for a substantial profit but give the money directly to the people who need it. The Rip Medical Debt folks have a debt elimination counter on their website that is moving faster than the federal debt counter. I’m not an accountant, but the best I can tell by looking at their 2018 tax report, they purchased approximately $2.3 million of debt and raised $5.4 million in contributions. There’s money to be made somewhere in this.

I’m not suggesting this is a bad thing; it’s just not the best thing. It is encouraging to hear about churches expressing concern for the poor, but let’s make sure that it is true concern for the poor and not just a publicity stunt.

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When Heroes Disappear

I was a fervent lover of baseball as a kid. Growing up in Colorado meant we had no access to Major League Baseball games, so I never attended a game until many years later. The nearest team was in St. Louis, and I can remember listening to games at night on a transistor radio. It wasn’t always a clear signal, but through the static, I could usually pick up KMOX, and they broadcast the Cardinals’ games. Normally, I hid under a blanket because it was past bedtime and if my mother heard the radio, she would make me turn it off.

You might think I cheered for the Red Birds, and I did like Stan Musial, but for some reason, I was a die-hard Yankee fan. Like half the boys in my generation, my hero was Mickey Mantle. In 1962, when my brother was born, I lobbied hard for my parents to name him Mickey Roger Austin because of the epic home run duel Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris were involved with the previous summer. My efforts were in vain, and my brother carries the name Steve Austin (not the famous one).

I loved everything about Mickey Mantle. One of the first things I did every morning was tear through the sports page and find the box scores just to see how he did the day before. I never saw him play except for the occasional Saturday Game of the Week when the Yankees happened to play. I knew everything a 12-year-old boy could know about someone back in those pre-Internet times.heroes

Many years later, I learned the Mickey had an alcohol problem and that he liked to party, getting by on the verge of constantly being disciplined by the team. I didn’t know that, and I might not have believed it at the time. He was my hero. By the way, heroes will always disappoint us.

I have had other heroes over the years.

When I was a pastor far away from colleagues and libraries, I stumbled across a radio program called “Grace to You.” I loved the music at the beginning and end of the program— “Oh How He Loves You and Me.” I still catch myself singing it at times. The heart of the program was the preaching of John MacArthur, and for a young preacher thirsting for good Bible study, he was a life saver. I bought his books, followed his notes, used his material for my own sermon research. If I’m going to be totally honest, I’m sure I even preached a few of his sermons. He wasn’t a great preacher, but I thought he was an amazing teacher. He was a hero for me. Continue reading

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My Church Started Speaking Another Language (and it wasn’t unknown tongues)

Rodolfo has been taking care of my yard for three or four years. He does a great job and is one of the hardest working guys I know. I see him all over the neighborhood, mowing and trimming grass. He tends to residential lawns as well as commercial property. We got hooked up because he was doing my next-door neighbor’s yard and I needed someone. I caught him one day and suggested he could make us both a good deal since our yards were essentially one. He agreed.

He no longer does the yards of any of my immediate neighbors, but he still does mine. I’ve increased what I pay him, not because he has ever asked for more but just because I thought it was more fair.

Rodolfo is probably about 50 years old, has a couple of daughters in college, and a wife who sometimes works with him. He has long hair that hangs in a ponytail halfway down his back. Also, he speaks less English than I speak Spanish. Yet we communicate. If I need him to do something that requires complex explanation, I’ll leave a message on his phone and his daughter will call back and explain to her dad what I need. Done, it’s taken care of.Language

I like Rodolfo, and I think he likes me. We try to communicate beyond, “Buenos Dias,” and a few arm waves, but we don’t get much further. Until one of us bites the bullet and learns the language, Rodolfo and I will never be close friends. Communication is an integral part of relationships.

At the other end of the spectrum are those who build a relationship strictly on language and very little else. I guess the clearest example of this is our Facebook friends. I have 1,143 Facebook friends. I know that a few of that number have died, and a high percentage of those still living have never been in the same room with me at any time in our lives. We are friends only in the sense that we speak a common language.

I’ve lost many Facebook friends over the years because of the language I speak on Facebook. To be honest, none of my siblings are on my Friend’s List. They’ve never said anything, but I don’t think they like my politics. Since we speak a different language, we find it challenging to be Facebook Friends. (Don’t worry, in real life we are good.)

Only relating to those who speak the same language would be boring and unfulfilling. Who would do my yard for me? I guess I could hire some high school kid to mow the grass, but I’m not sure we would communicate any better.

If you only relate to those who speak the same language, you will find yourself isolated from much of the world. Do it long enough, and you essentially become useless to the world, since the only thing you know is the same things your friends already know. That’s why it’s dangerous to get all your news and information from one source and surround yourself with only people who see the world the same way you do. When that occurs, you don’t actually have a relationship; all you have is a common language.

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The Unfairness of God

During our Sunday morning gathering today, the discussion wandered into the subject of the unfairness of life. I don’t know about you, but even though life has been good to me, it has not been fair.

Many years ago, when my mind was quicker and my decision-making ability keener, I was hired to work in communications at the police department in the northern suburbs of Denver. It was the place where they answer the 911 calls and talk on the radio to police and other emergency responders. They were desperately seeking someone with my skill set and experience, so to entice me to leave the job I already had, they offered me more money than normal. That kind of opportunity does not come around very often, so I took the position.

However, it created a rather awkward situation where I was making more money than my supervisor. I was sworn to secrecy, and I did my part to keep my salary to myself. After several months, somehow, she discovered how much I was being paid and, needless to say, she did not take the news well. For some reason, she chose to take out her frustration on me.Unfairness of God

Her salary had nothing to do with me. Before I arrived, she was content with her wages. When she discovered that I was making more money, all of sudden she felt that she was being treated unfairly. Although she and I never discussed the situation, it was not a good environment. She blamed me for the fact that she was treated unfairly.

I have thought about this experience many times over the years as I have seen how people like to compare their income with the incomes of those around them. Many of us like to determine our value by the wages we earn, so when someone makes more money, they must be a better person in some way. Jesus told us that money is a powerful force.

However, the real issue for my supervisor was fairness. It was not fair that she was paid less even though she was in charge and had seniority. We like to speak of being treated fairly. That is all that we really want – just give us our fair share. The word “fair” means to be just, reasonable, or impartial.

Jesus spoke a parable about this kind of fairness (see Matthew 20). A landowner hired a group of laborers to work his field all day for an agreed upon price. The task was larger than first thought, so he returned every few hours to secure more laborers. This process continued all day, until the eleventh hour, just sixty minutes before the end of the day. The early morning crew must have been curious all day long, wondering how much the late arrivers were going to be paid.

They did not wait long to find out since the ones who arrived late were the first to be paid. The early risers must have been very excited to note that the late arrivers received a full day’s pay. That must mean they would be paid extra, the only fair thing to do. However, their excitement turned quickly into despair and then anger when they realized they would only receive the agreed upon price they had negotiated at the beginning of the day. Those who worked one hour were paid the identical amount as those who labored all day. That does not seem fair!

However, what the laborers defined as “unfairness,” the landowner called it “generosity.” He was completely fair since he had kept his word and paid them as promised. Their problem was his generosity toward others.

If you have lived more than a few years with your eyes open, you have discovered that we do not live in a fair world. We are all distinguished by a unique set of physical characteristics, mental capabilities, and life experiences. I have been blessed with abundance in many ways, but it is not fair that I have never been able to simply stand up and walk across the room. As long as we reside in this world, unfairness will be a part of our experience.

An equally important truth is that we really do not want fairness from God. I don’t want God to give me what I deserve; what I earn. I hope and pray that He is generous. That is why we should never begrudge His generosity toward others.

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Bread

It is a fundamental New Testament principle that for a church to function properly, every member has a role to fulfill. For a period of time when we were a part of a group of believers calling ourselves, “Bread Fellowship,” I had several responsibilities, not the least of which was to provide the bread for our weekly communion observance. During our history, we tried several different approaches, but it seems the one that worked the best was for me to simply bring a small loaf of bread.

I am not unfamiliar with the workings of the Lord’s Supper. When I was a young child after our church observed the Supper, my sister and I would finish off the juice and bread that was leftover. I’m sure we were allowed to do this because my mother has never thrown away anything in her life. We always considered it a treat to be able to recreate the event before being hustled off to bed on Sunday night. I will confess now that I always hoped for a small crowd at church since that meant more leftovers for us later.

Early in ministry, it was necessary for me to begin developing a theology of the Lord’s Supper. I grew up in Colorado where my father had been a tenured pastor and a highly influential patriarch in the denomination. After graduating from college in Texas, I enrolled in seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. The expectation was that upon completion I would return to Colorado to serve as a pastor. Daddy was in a position to make that happen.Bread

As seminary graduation approached, Daddy called and asked if I wanted to pastor a church in Colorado. After assuring him that was my plan, he mailed an information form that he would share with some available churches, and everything would be smooth. In addition to personal information, the form asked for my opinion on two issues—Baptism and the Lord’s Supper.

I knew that my position on the Lord’s Supper differed from my father, but he had also taught me to stand up for what I believed. I did and mailed it back to him. Since I was writing papers and reading textbooks, I didn’t give the information form much thought until it came back to me via the mail, along with a handwritten letter from my Dad. He asked me to change my answers to the two questions, and he would find a church for me. When I tell this story, people think I should have been surprised or offended or perhaps even insulted, but I wasn’t. Not only did Daddy teach me to stand up for what I believed, but he also taught me to expect the same from him. After I told him I couldn’t change my answers my fate was sealed. I never did serve a church in Colorado. The good news is that neither Daddy nor I had a problem with the interaction. Our relationship was not affected.

Instead, my incorrect Lord’s Supper theology led me to the Texas panhandle where I held the position of pastor for thirteen years. Being the pastor of the same church for thirteen years, I organized the Lord’s Supper in every way imaginable to avoid falling into a meaningless routine. One of the most memorable times was provided by an unexpected source. We had a young mother, Rosalinda, who gave her life to Jesus one evening in her home. She and her children began attending church every week, always sitting on the front row. She was growing in her faith every Sunday.

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