Guilty Pleasures

It occurred to me during my recent trip to Peru that it is time to admit to some guilty pleasures. This rather obtuse thought may have been provoked by how much I enjoyed being back in the Andes. However, it could also be that 16 hours on a bus (no matter how beautiful the scenery) brings out some socially indefensible behavior in my personality.

A guilty pleasure is something one considers pleasurable despite feeling guilty for enjoying it. Often, the "guilt" involved is simply fear of others discovering one's rather lowbrow tastes, rather than actual moral guilt. The kind of clothing we enjoy, music, and food (especially foods we know are unhealthy) can be examples of guilty pleasures.

Between Su and me, we have several guilty pleasures.

We enjoy and even relish eating Blue Bell Ice Cream. Now, if you are one of our readers who lives “up North” and has not spent significant time in the Southland during the past 35 years, you do not know “that of which I speak.” However, for those of you in Texas, Louisiana or Arkansas, you know that a man my age has no rational defense for imbibing in this particular pleasure. Just for the record, a half cup of Blue Bell “Tin Roof” has 190 calories, 10 grams of fat and 22 grams of carbs.

I am salivating just thinking about the next time I can have a bowl… and not feeling nearly as guilty as I should.

I am not sure if Su’s fondness for cotton candy can be truly defined as a guilty pleasure. You see, she has no shame in eating it or being seen eating it in public. On the other hand, I feel an almost immediate need to wash my hands and brush my teeth when she buys some – and I do not even touch the stuff!

I have one particular guilty pleasure related to what I listen to on my long trips.

For reasons that I cannot fully explain, I enjoy listening to J. Vernon McGee. Dr. McGee’s five year “Bible Bus Trip” continues to make me smile 21 years after he took that bus “up yonder.” Some of you are grimacing just thinking about listening to some of his rather unusual verbal mannerisms. Believe me, I understand. I guess that is why actually downloading him on to my iPod is a guilty pleasure.

Thinking of trips, I enjoy reading rather low-brow detective and spy novels. On this recent trip I read one about a CIA operative basically forgotten by the agency after infiltrating some radical groups in Afghanistan. I think you get the general gist and the reason this could only be classified as a guilty pleasure.

If making people listen to something can be a guilty pleasure, I confess to deriving great joy from playing saxophone and harmonica duets with Su. I am not positive, but we may be the only people in the world that play this particular combination of musical instruments. I have never been sure if the look on people’s faces when they hear us is that of mild interest or some type of catatonic defense mechanism.

One of my greatest guilty pleasures is having a day off with Su to read, talk, eat and read some more. Yes, although some of you feel I do not partake in this particular guilty pleasure enough, I do enjoy it immensely.

As I thought about some of these guilty pleasures it also occurred to me that Christians do not do well with pleasure. We tend to have two responses to it. First, we think it is our “God-given right” and therefore we are protected when we over do it. Unfortunately, consuming too much Blue Bell tends to hang around in all the wrong places. Second, we doubt that we deserve it and look on it with either disdain or suspicion. Amazingly enough, there are times we attempt to “out holy” God as we reject His divinely given gifts.

In Genesis 18:12 we read, “So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I am worn out, and my lord is old, shall I have pleasure?” (ESV). Of course, the answer was “yes” because nothing is too hard for God.

Falling Down

I fell down the other day. I mean I REALLY fell down. The kind of “fall-right-on-your-face-in-public-falling-down” that you cannot dissimulate no matter how hard you try.

I was on the way to the airport to pick up one of my co-workers when I decided to stop at a store and pick up a Diet Coke. I stepped out of the car and took two steps when I suddenly found myself falling in the general direction of concrete and tarmac. It seems that I had put my foot on a piece of rebar in the dark which had sliced into my shoe. When I tried to take a step forward I ended up tripping and falling onto the top of a cement retaining wall - with my chest taking most of the damage in the collision.

A store employee and security guard came running up to help me. It was obvious from their expressions and words they thought they had just witnessed a spectacular senior moment. I hate it when younger people treat me like I am old enough to be a member of the AARP.

Hold on a sec – I AM old enough to be a member of AARP! However, I still hate it when they treat me like I am.

It is not the first time that I have managed to impress people with my ability to fall down this year. Back in March I fell face to the floor in front of several IT missionaries when I misjudged the number of steps through my bifocals. Nothing like a disastrous fall to humble you in front of your co-workers. Nothing like kissing the floor hard to make you wish you didn’t have to wear bifocals.

Mary Pickford, the star of silent movies, said, “Supposing you have tried and failed again and again. You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call “Failure” is not the falling down, but the staying down.”

Comforting words for someone like myself who is apparently making a second career out of spectacular public pratfalls.

I find some level of encouragement in the fact that we all fall down. We all fail. That is one of the greatest truths of Christianity – we have all fallen very far from where we were meant to be, but He has helped us stand up once again. A God of mercy has reached down to rescue participants in His fallen creation.

Ironically, according to the Scriptures one of the best responses we can have to grace like that is to fall down (once again) in worship before Him (Rev. 4:10). Apparently it is easier to fall than stand in front of such a great and holy God. I look forward to that moment of falling down, don’t you?

Living With Caricatures

Once a year, I draw a caricature of Susan and myself for our Christmas newsletter. My daughters are happy that I no longer include them in this rather embarrassing family tradition. Drawing myself is easy. Basically, all I have to do is create a classic light bulb shape, paste on a pair of big ears, add some round glasses and ink in my beard.

For some reason, I can also do a decent caricature of my friend, Jack Faulkner. Oh, that's right! He is bald, wears little glasses and has a beard.

Drawing Su is a bit more difficult. Because it is a caricature, I need to make the drawing humorous. Because she is my wife, I need to make it, well - pretty. In searching for the balance between funny and flattery, I usually default to a harmonious December over the quick laugh. My normal technique is to spend a few hours getting Su's drawing "just right" and then penciling in my self-descriptive light bulb in a matter of minutes.

The term "caricature" originally came from Italian and meant to charge or load. So, the English word basically means "a loaded drawing." The easiest way to make a caricature is to exaggerate some of the natural characteristics of the subject. My bald head and big ears make things easy. As I grow older my bushy eyebrows add another "B" feature to simplify my task. Of course, another area you can exaggerate in the drawing deals with vanities - choice of hair style, glasses, clothing or little mannerisms. That is one reason why computerized caricatures lack humor. The drawing program has a hard time picking up on that certain something that makes us who we are.

It occurred to me this week that one of our cardinal sins as humans is the caricaturization of those we do not understand. We would prefer to confront the cartoon in our mind rather than the real person who lives in time and space.

People who are politically conservative tend to create caricatures of those who lean towards the left. Liberals become unpatriotic idiots rather than well-meaning citizens with a profoundly different social philosophy.

On the other hand, people on the left tend to draw social conservatives as unfeeling or uncharitable brutes. My sister (who I will not identify here except to say that her initials are Janet Thune) is vocal in her conservative beliefs. However, I have probably never met a more charitable individual in all my travels. In fact, when Evangelicals finally identify a list of saints, she and her husband may well be first on the list.

Christians are invariably presented in caricature form by popular media.
Truth be told, we seem to provide a great deal of ammo to those who would make jest of us. Every time another pastor or Christian politician jumps into a moral quagmire with both feet, it makes it pretty easy for our secular friends to poke fun at our family values. Every time we make growth and numbers in our churches more important than being faithful followers of Jesus, it becomes easier for people in the media to perceive us as shysters and hucksters rather than serious disciples.

It shouldn't surprise us that people present a caricature of Christians. After all, they have done the same thing with Jesus for centuries. In popular culture He has become a rather effeminate individual walking around a dusty Roman province like He just had His nails done. Somehow, the robust Jewish rabbi who "spoke as one having authority" is lost in the caricatures of contemporary media.

We haven't done much better in popular Christianity. It seems to me that we have reduced Jesus from being Savior, Master and King to a nice guy providing very practical self-help advice. "Come and die" has been replaced with "follow me and feel good."

I enjoy drawing my annual caricature. It is a chance for me to be a bit creative. However, I do not carry a drawing of Su in my wallet. Instead, I like to have a photo that reminds me of the real her.

Hopefully, I am brave enough to continue to search for the Jesus revealed in Scripture rather than contenting myself with the contemporary caricature. The real Jesus may be wilder than, and not quite as domesticated as, the cartoon character, but He is still the One I want to follow.

Not Yet!

My father recently had an appointment with a hematologist. Because of the high census of patients, the physician had returned from retirement to help out at the clinic. In an attempt to make conversation, the doctor asked Morgan if he had lived his whole life in Rochester. Dad responded, "Not yet."

Not quite.

When I was younger my parents frequently "went visiting." This sounds like a wonderful (probably quaint) way for a family to spend a Sunday afternoon. However, in a region where my relatives represented a significant voting block, it sometimes seemed like there was no end to our trips. Until I developed sufficient adolescent sullenness to resist their entreaties, it was expected that I would accompany my parents on their "drives." Like backseat passengers throughout the world, I often asked, "Are we there yet?" Invariably, the answer was, "Not quite, just a little bit more."

Just a while longer.

The Bible is filled with the message of "not yet- just a while longer."

The disciples thought the Kingdom had come and maybe it had - in a marvelous, confusing way the religious people of the day never expected. Still, when they were left on that hilltop east of Jerusalem looking up into the clouds, the angels seemed to say, "It is still coming. It is still a ways off."

In his letter to the Romans, Paul states, "... we hope for something we have not yet seen, and we patiently wait for it." (Romans 8:25, CEV) In a chapter otherwise filled with great confidence, even Paul realizes there is still something more to come. We haven't experienced everything yet. There is still something just over the horizon we have yet to see.

Paul applied this "not yet" message to his personal spiritual experience. He wrote, "I have not yet reached my goal... But Christ has taken hold of me. So I keep on running and struggling to take hold of the prize." (Philippians 3:12, CEV) I am His, but I still have a ways to go.

Of course the same thing can be said for each one of us. In his first letter the Apostle John wrote, "... we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is." (1 John 3:2, ESV)

I imagine the disciples occasionally grew tired of waiting for the "soon return" of their Savior. It would have been natural for Paul to wonder if God didn't move that prize from time to time. All of us live with that "almost-but-not-quite" as part of our spiritual experience.

Of course, in the end, this is what faith really comes down to - living in that land where we can see the cookie jar, but it remains just out of reach.

Hey, Hey Paula!

Last week, our friend Paula Lithander passed into the Lord's presence after a battle with cancer. I wrote the following for her family, but thought many of you might like to read it, as well.

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On October 6, 1962, Ray Hildebrand and Jill Jackson, two college students from Howard Payne College recorded a song in the basement studio of a local radio station in Fort Worth. A few months later, "Hey, Paula" was at the top of the charts in the U.S., Europe and Japan.

The way Paula Lithander sometimes grimaced when people sang that song made me think that she often wished Ray and Jill had stayed out of the studio! Still, one of the lines from the third verse came to mind as I thought of her during the past weeks. "True love means waiting and hoping that soon wishes we made will come true..." All of us are now going to be waiting and wishing for that day when we can be reunited with Paula.

Kirk and Paula (along with Debbie) came to work with us in La Paz, Bolivia, in the mid-eighties. Paula felt that she had been called in a very special way to minister in that Andean country. She might have felt called, but she probably was not prepared for all that she would encounter there.

A few experiences come to my mind from those early days in Bolivia.

I don't think Paula was prepared for the influence I would have on her husband. Kirk had been a solid, conservative Christian until he began to work with me. I am afraid that some of my "social heresies" shared during late night conversations may have created some tension for the new missionary couple when Kirk returned home. At the very least, she was fond of saying, "He was never like this until he met you!"

I still wonder what she meant by that statement.

I know that Paula probably had a hard time trusting my judgment regarding civil situations after going to a restaurant on Plaza Abaroa with Kirk, Susan and me early on in their time in Bolivia. While we ate some of the wonderful steaks the restaurant was known for, we all heard and felt an explosion. When I went to the restaurant door to look out, I could see smoke rising from the U.S. Ambassador's residence across the plaza. Now, from my perspective neither explosion, smoke nor civil chaos seemed worthy of interrupting a good meal. After closing and securing the door, I returned to the table. When Paula asked what had happened, I responded, "Not much" and continued to eat. When she found out the truth about that evening’s events, she was not a happy camper.

Thinking of eating, I will always remember Paula as an excellent and generous cook. She knew how to prepare wonderful food and how to open her table and home to others. In an age of fast food and faster lives, Paula knew the value of hospitality and of creating a sense of Christian community.

However, she did have some culinary mishaps in Bolivia. After all, cooking at 12,500 feet above sea level was not normal for a girl from Warrenville, Illinois. I will always remember the pressure cooker that became "clogged" while cooking some beans. When it blew, Kirk and Paula thought the stove’s gas tank had exploded. I don't think they ever managed to clean all the beans off the walls before they moved from that apartment!

Some of my favorite times with Paula involved singing. We sang together in our homes; we sang in our church; we sang in special presentations; and, we sang at funerals. I will never forget when Paula and I provided the music at a very “special” funeral. When his mother-in-law died, an acquaintance decided he would bury his mother-in-law's ashes in the driveway. He explained that he wanted to bury her there because she had always loved her house. I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to smile a bit too much when I pointed out that he would have to drive over "her" each day. Needless to say, both Paula and I found the burial site to be odd. While we sang a duet based on Psalm 91:1 ("He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty."), we looked each other in the eyes and began to giggle. Finally, Paula had to cover over our social faux pas by "coughing our way out of it."

When you serve together in a country like Bolivia you either become dear friends or tense co-workers. Kirk and Paula became dear friends. I am especially thankful for Paula's many personal acts of kindness. In the midst of a hectic season of ministry, Susan and I managed to carve out one night to get away to a hotel for our anniversary. The only problem was what we would do with our youngest daughter who was still nursing. Paula immediately understood the situation and offered to take care of her and bring her to Susan at the critical times. We didn't have to ask... Paula offered.

I remember Paula holding on to her own daughter during a special trip that we made with several other missionaries to a snow-capped mountain above La Paz. Several of us went up a steep slope to do some extreme sledding on plastic tarps. On my trip down, I developed a bit too much speed and found myself in mid-air shooting past the campsite. Paula looked at me with wide eyes as she tried to protect Debbie with her body. Both she and Debbie ended up in better shape than I did!

Somehow it seems appropriate to end these thoughts with a song since I began with one. Soon after Paula's home-going, I was listening to some music as I drove through the Central Valley in Costa Rica when a song came on my iPod with these words: "Her life wasn't easy, how hard she tried. You know she's an angle, Lord, so let her fly." I have to admit that while I might not agree with the doctrine of the song, I was moved to tears by the sentiment.

Hey, Paula, all the pain is over. Now you get to sing with a real choir! Let her fly, let her fly.

Sawing Up Uncle Charlie

My father is fond of saying that Uncle Charlie was never the same after they sawed him up.

The "they" in this statement refers to my Grandpa Joe and my father, Morgan. "Uncle Charlie" was some type of relative. In my family, one learned early in life not to ask how certain uncles or cousins were actually related. Questions like that led to long explanations that children below the age of sixteen had neither the patience nor the intellectual ability to understand.

During The Great Depression Morgan and Joe were rip-sawing logs with Uncle Charlie in the woods on the western side of Grandpa's farm. They had set up the saw using a belt coming off the tractor which rotated a large, round saw blade. In the course of their work, Uncle Charlie's flannel shirt got caught between the belt and the axle of the saw, and he was flipped around violently.

My grandfather and father did what they could. They loaded Uncle Charlie's broken body into the back of the car and drove the 16 miles into Rochester, Minnesota, where the hospital had one of those fancy new x-ray machines. Looking at the broken old man lying before them, the doctors decided to x-ray his whole body.

When the film had been developed and analyzed, the doctors said, "Mr. Carlson, you have a bullet in your head!" Uncle Charlie responded, "Huh! Years ago I got shot in the head, but there was so much blood that I thought the bullet had gone clean through." Now, you just have to think there is something fishy behind that kind of statement.

Unfortunately, the state of medical expertise in the 1930's was such that it was impossible to remove the bullet. Uncle Charlie went to his grave with it still firmly lodged in his head.

Now, how that bullet came to be in Uncle Charlie's head is the source of several stories in our family. I am not sure any of them are true. The long and the short of it is that he either had bad luck in his choice of hunting partners or bad luck at cards. Either way, a man with a bullet in his head who gets sawed up by his nephew is not someone you invite to buy your next lottery ticket.

I thought of Uncle Charlie because of a conversation I had this week. As I remembered this old family story, a verse came to mind which we’d all do well to pay attention to. In Luke 12:2, Jesus said, "Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known."

A big crowd had gathered while Jesus condemned the Pharisees and Scribes. Any debate will draw a crowd. That is why people watch "talking heads" on CNN and FOX News. However, in this case I think that people were also drawn by Jesus' fearless denunciation of their hypocritical leaders. Turning to His disciples, Jesus warned, "Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy."

A hypocrite is someone that wears a mask - one whose outward appearance is different from the inner reality. The Pharisees acted like they had their moral and spiritual lives together, but they were really masters of deceit.

Jesus was saying in effect, "Someday they will all be revealed for who they are. Some day their secrets (like bullets in the brain) will be made known to everyone. There will be no hiding of the truth."

I talk a lot about the importance of being an authentic disciple of Jesus Christ. Like other missionaries, pastors, and Christian workers, I need to be aware that it is easy to allow my inner reality to become different from the public message. I need to be careful with that. I never know when the secrets in my head will become public information.

Investments That Count

This week Susan and I made an investment. Well, at least according to Guillermo, the salesman, it was. I have noticed almost all good sales representatives think their particular product will be an investment of one type or another. My guess is that is what made Billy Mays such an iconic figure. He thought everything from "Mighty Putty" to, my personal favorite, "Big City Sliders"* would be a valuable investment for each of us.

Our particular investment was a bed. Yes, after eleven years of my feet hanging off the end of a rather traditionally-sized Costa Rican bed, we purchased a queen-sized mattress and box spring. According to Guillermo, a bed is an investment because you are going to spend a third of your life in it. Obviously Guillermo doesn't know our normal schedule or how much I travel!

According to the a dictionary I consulted, investing refers to the act of laying out money or capital in an enterprise with the expectation of profit. I am not sure how much profit I am going to make out of this bed, but I have been enjoying the sensation of having my feet stay under the covers all night.

Investing is also "the commitment of something other than money (time, energy or effort) to a project with the expectation of some worthwhile result." That describes a lot of mission's effort. There is not a great deal of money to invest, but missionaries invest time and energy to see God's work done in sometimes difficult places.

It was my privilege to spend last week in Cochabamba and Santa Cruz, Bolivia. It was a joy to see the results of our missionaries' faithful investments. David Quiroga and his team (which includes our daughter Norma and her family) have been working hard to see the Centro de Amistad grow into a ministry deeply impacting the children and youth of a very poor neighborhood. In addition, they have planted a church that is now beginning to grow. It was a privilege to see the young Christians worship and share together when I spoke there last Sunday. David now leads a team that includes, Australians, fellow Bolivians, Canadians along with a few from the USA.

Spending time with Mike and Bonnie Timmer is always a good investment. While this past year has presented them with several serious challenges, they continue to move ahead with building, staffing and supporting a number of smaller children's homes in Bolivia.

River Claure and his wife have worked for years to create and develop a ministry to youth leaders in Bolivia. In just over a week between 150 and 250 youth workers from around the country will arrive for a conference just outside of Cochabamba. Now, this is a REAL investment in next-generation leaders.

Down in Santa Cruz we are beginning to change around some of our investments. Jimmy Bollinger is going to begin a team modeling discipleship to university students. We are never sure how our investments will pay out, but this one looks like it has a lot of potential. Of course, the investment that IT missionaries, Ken Switzer and Marcee Groen have made in the lives of street children in Santa Cruz has already paid off. Some of the former street kids are now in university and continue to grow in their faith.

All in all, I think these IT ministries are going to be better investments than our new mattress - certainly better than "Big City Sliders!"

*"Big City Sliders" is actually a type of frying pan which enables you to make "White Castle" hamburgers in your own home... I am not sure if this would be seen as an investment or biological warfare.