Call To Worship

Quiet.

If you listen, you can hear it. It's a crisp, cool, fall morning. The sun still hasn't risen, and the only sounds wafting up from the streets below are the occasional car making the turn at the light around the corner.

The sparrows are silent, the pigeons are absent, and except for the rhythm of the clock on the mantle, it is peaceful here in the sparrow's perch. Except for my spirit. I'm anxious for an experience with the Lord. I'm always excited to see what God will do everyday, but there is something about Wednesday and Sunday services that punch it up a notch or two. I think it's because of the corporate anointing. I can imagine our little sparrow as he sits in the framework of the Tabernacle and the call to worship is sounded during one of the many feasts the Lord commanded the Children of Israel to observe. The exhilaration of the 'shofar' being sounded, must have pierced the tiny sparrow's heart like a fowler's dart. The air would be alive with the thunderous roar as the men and women of Israel began the recited prayers, singing in unison, the wondrous story of Israel's redemption. “Oh give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good and His mercy endureth forever.”

Below the tiny Sparrow, the people carry their sacrifices into the courtyard of the Tabernacle, each signifying a desire to be forgiven, or simply to have fellowship with the Lord God. They bring their sacrifices, but leave them at the Altar. No one, but the priest, makes the journey from the altar to the inner court where the Presence of God resides. The tiny sparrow is overwhelmed with sorrow as he flits from the inner court, and outer court with ease. The once mighty kings of the earth, the ones who walked with God in the cool of the day, are now relegated to coming within feet of the Presence, and turning away.

Is it any different today?

The Presence of God is no longer contained within four walls. He has made his abode in the hearts of men, and still He is no closer than he was when he was when His glory filled the Tabernacle. The Psalmists lament can be heard today; “Who is this King of Glory?” We barely know Him. We can't seem to see Him through the mist and haze of religious order. The purchase of salvation through the atoning work of Jesus is pushed off into a nice little corner, and the exuberant joy of our redemption is buried beneath decorum.

How did we get from a garden to a closed in box?

What we fail to recognize, is that we have been purchased. We are not our own. It doesn't matter whether you believe in the Atoning work of Jesus or not, you were bought. In the end, when this world is rolled up like a scroll, it will be Jesus who decides what is to be done with you. He bought you, it is His right.

The sun is breaking on the horizon, and the sparrows are coming alive. Across the park, I can hear the unending call of crows as they scavenge the refuse of mankind. It won't be long till the men start arriving for our Men's study group. I have high hopes for the service today.

Quiet. Is that the call to worship? I am always hopeful that the call to worship will be exactly that. There is nothing quite like the power of the corporate anointing.    

THERE IS A WIND BLOWING

It's an unusual morning in the Sparrow's Perch, and my feelings are all over the place. Somewhere below me in the park around the lake, a dog is barking as if it is trying to get someone's attention. It hasn't stopped barking since I arrived nearly twenty minutes ago. It's unusual, because this is the first time I've heard a dog barking from my window above the park. I assume it belongs to someone who's gone running on this unusually warm fall morning. It feels as if there is a storm coming. The wind is gusting, and it brings back memories of my childhood in El Paso, Texas.

I like the wind.

Growing up on the northeast side of the Franklin Mountains, my life was measured in the cycles of the wind. From late February till the middle of April, you could count on the wind blowing a steady gale from sunrise to sunset. I grew up with the familiar sight of blown down billboards, store signs, and broken storefront glass. I've seen the wind walk mobile homes off their cinderblock piers, turn over tractor trailer rigs as if they were leaves, and blow this little boy home on his bicycle at speeds that would have caused his mother to have a heart attack. Tornadoes are frightening, hurricanes monstrous, but unrelenting straight line winds of 80 mph can hollow out your soul. The desert sand would blow into places you would never think sand could be found. I was convinced that much of the crime that was committed in that city, was done by people with sand in their underwear. Yet, despite all this, I always enjoy a good windstorm.

As I left the house this morning, I found myself grinning as the wind whipped through the Crepe Myrtle in our front yard. Not all wind is destructive. I also have good memories of the wind. For me, the wind is always symbolic of the presence of God. Many of the mightiest moves of God I've experienced were preceded by a wind out of nowhere. I could share them with you, but like all personal experiences, something always gets lost in the telling. Two instances in particular, were life changing for me, but I'm sure they meant nothing to anyone else. That is often the case with God's presence. What moves me to press in deeper, will cause someone else to stand back and shake their head in disbelief.

There is a wind blowing in Harrison, Arkansas.

The marvel of our technological age, is that we have the ability to record, report, and enjoy what God is doing. For all the bad rap it gets, Facebook is an amazing place to let people know what God is doing. Among my list of friends, are the pastors and members of other fellowships in Harrison. This affords me the opportunity to see what God is doing, while still being faithful to my fellowship. AND, God is doing some serious stuff.

There is a wind blowing in Harrison, Arkansas.

While I believe the word 'revival' is seriously over used, and misused, there is a move of God happening in this sleepy little hamlet. The faithful, and hungry are seeing great moves of God's Spirit throughout the entire spectrum of denominational, and non-denominational fellowships. I don't care how you define revival, it is here.

There is a wind blowing in Harrison, Arkansas.

The question I have is; will people enjoy this move of God, or will we let it blow by us?

What came to my heart as I was driving into town this morning was the story of Moses, and how he had a tent built called the 'Tent of the Meeting.' We are told that Moses' relationship with God was one of friendship, and profound intimacy. It is said that Moses talked with God face to face, as one speaks to a friend. What is amazing to me about this story, is that the Tent was made so that the Children of Israel could come before their God and MEET with him. The invitation was open, but they were satisfied to stand at the doors to their own tents while Moses and Joshua soaked in the glory of God. “You go talk with Him.” they said. We can only guess at their reason for not going forward. What we do know, is that long after Moses had returned to his own tent, Joshua had decided to stay in the Presence of God, often spending the night there. Is it any wonder, that when the time came for Moses to die, God chose Joshua. He chose him, not because of his great leadership skills, nor because he was a great communicator, or because of his knowledge of the Law of God. He chose Joshua, because Joshua knew God's voice. He'd met with Him in the tent of the meeting. Once more, the wind blew, and the Spirit of God did mighty things.

There is a wind blowing in Harrison, Arkansas.

So, to all my friends, and those who just happened onto this blog, I am touching my finger to my tongue and holding it up to the wind.

Yes, there is a wind blowing in Harrison, Arkansas.

Soon you will hear of great, and mighty deeds done in the power of Jesus name. Soon, you will see the lame walk, the deaf hear, and the dead rise again. You see, I believe that the very same Spirit that empowered Jesus and His disciples, is doing the same here in Harrison. I am not satisfied to let these things be ancient fables. I am not satisfied to let someone else go into the tent, when I can have full access by the blood of Jesus. I am not satisfied to walk out of the 'Tent' the same person I came in as. I'm going to get on my spiritual bicycle and head for home. (Someday I'll tell the story.) I'm going to let the Wind of God blast me into the maelstrom of His love, until I'm going so fast I'll never stop.

There is a wind blowing in Harrison, Arkansas.

PS;  THE DOG IS STILL BARKING

What Is the Presence?

I knew it had to happen.  If you write and talk about something long enough, someone asks you that ‘zinger’ question to see if you really know about that which you speak of.  Such was the situation the other day when I was asked; “What’s this Presence thing you keep talking about?” 

I took a deep breath and stalled for a moment.  “Ummmmmmmmmmmm”   My brain seemed stuck  in first gear.

COME ON!      What’d they have to go and ask that for?   My first reaction is to say something really caustic, but I don’t.  Instead, I bite my tongue and answer with the cliché religious answer : “At the risk of sounding like I’m ready for a padded room, and a straight jacket, the Presence is God himself. “

My brain screams Aaaauuuuuugggggghhhhhh!   What a lame response.  I can do better than that.

Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I have a better answer.  Asking someone what the Presence is, is like asking someone  to tell you what watermelon taste like.  You can no more describe the Presence than you can tell someone what the color RED feels like.  (We’ll come back to that thought in a moment.)   We’ll do an easy one, and think about something yellow. You know what a lemon smells like because you were told sometime early in your development that it was lemon you were smelling.  If you see and smell a lemon enough times, you can point one out  a mile away, just by the smell.  You don’t need to see it.  If you tasted it, you would immediately know it was a lemon.  If you saw a lemon, you would immediately begin to salivate in expectation of the bittersweet experience you’ve had in the past.  If you were asked to explain to someone how does yellow feel, you would probably go the path of a lemon.  Yet, if you asked someone to explain how does a lemon feel, they would probably go to the taste of one first.  We don’t have the ability to tell anyone what a color feels like, because color is based upon our vision.  Red doesn’t feel like anything, yet, we describe things as being red.  It all depends upon the senses being used, as to how you describe something.  If I say coffee, almost anyone can immediately identify it.  If I say cold, you know what I’m talking about.  If I say RED, you immediately have a visual image of red.   While our five senses can detect the Presence of God, I can only tell you what I feel in my spirit by using terms couched in our five senses.  If I tell you that the Presence of God feels like a warm blanket, you immediately have a sensory image to draw upon, even though the actual feeling was greater than what I told you.  It’s like telling you that the color RED feels warm.  Once I do that, you immediately associate red with warmth.  RED can be fast.  RED can be sweet, Red can be loud, Red can be firm, . . . RED can feel like anything. 

The Presence of God can feel like anything to anyone, but  when I walk into my office at 5:30 in the morning, I immediately sense the Presence of God.  Does God spend the night in my office?  NO! 

 Is God’s Presence greater in my office than in my office at home?  NO! 

So what is so special about the Sparrow’s Perch?   Why do I need to start my day in this place?

Because, it is the place I come to, to open my Spirit up to him.  This is the place that I go away to, in order to be alone with HIM.  Even though He is ever present, always with me, anywhere I am, it is my responsibility to find the time to acknowledge Him.  I’m the one who must find a place and time to be aware of HIM.  Otherwise, I go mindlessly through my ‘religious’ paces without acknowledging HIM.  The Sparrow’s Perch is an attitude, not a GPS location.  The older I become, the more I find myself living in His Presence in any situation.  Whether I’m working, driving, talking, singing, or doing any other of a host of life’s daily actions, I can feel His Presence.  However, it is here in the Sparrow’s Perch that I’m more aware of HIM.  He becomes more real to me as I sit in this chair sipping coffee, and listening to the Sparrows singing their praises to Him in the soft cool of the morning.  At this moment, the Presence is a soft, quiet, tranquility that pushes away everything else, and makes me feel at peace with the world around me. The Presence is peace, and joy in the midst of anything. Other times, His Presence makes me feel like a caged lion, and other times like a small child standing against a night sky wondering how many stars there are.  All I do know, is that I must have His Presence.

Oh, I forgot, I can’t describe the taste of watermelon, but I can tell you that God’s Presence always feels luscious, . . . at least to me. 

STOPPING TO BELIEVE

If you’ve been following this blog for any length of time, you know by now that the place I call my sanctuary of peace and intimacy with the Spirit of God, is my office at the Church where I serve as the Men’s pastor.   My office sits just atop a long flight of stairs, and to the right of the landing.  I like it up here, because the window in my office overlooks the bottled up waters of  Crooked Creek,  which the locals affectionately call Lake Harrison. 

My daily routine, is to come in sometime around 5 or 5:30 in the morning, turn on the computer, open the window, and make coffee.   Once the coffee is brewing, I will sit down and read our daily bible reading, and pray.  

This morning, something happened to cause me to stop and question what I believe.  Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t monumental, tragic, or even noteworthy except for the fact that it caused me to pause for a moment, and question what I believe. 

The morning started off like any other, I was awakened by the alarm on my cell phone, went in and turned on the water to brush my teeth. Later, after I finished dressing, and the coffee pot I’d programmed the night before had dutifully produced my anticipated 1^st cup of coffee, I sat down a while to watch my lovely bride of over thirty-six years nap before facing her upcoming day.  After she left for work, I went out to my truck, put the key in the ignition and turned the key.  The truck started, I put it in gear and drove to the church.  Without even thinking about it, I turned the key to the side door, and found myself walking down the familiar hallway and up the stairs in the half-light from the streetlight outside.  I flipped the switch inside my door, and the light came on as usual.  I turned on the computer, made another pot of coffee, and sat down to read our daily reading. 

Something had changed. 

The computer hadn’t come on. 

DARN! 

We do so many things based on faith. 

My belief system was shaken.  You turn a key, flip a switch, press a button, program a timer, turn a wheel, and something happens.  This is the way of our modern world.  Without question, signals pour out of little thin wires, and we can know what is happening across the world.  I don’t claim to know the intricacies of electricity, but I do know the switch isn’t where the power comes from.  At the same time, if it doesn’t work the first time I flip the switch, I will usually bump it up and down at least three or four times, until I become convinced that something other than the switch is broken.  You see, I base my daily routine upon a myriad of things that I can’t see, but ultimately affect my life.  I still stand in awe of the cell phone, the internet, broadcast TV, water lines, and other modern conveniences that await my beck and call.  They work without question, and often without my knowing their source.  I have a plastic card that allows me to draw unseen money from an electronic depository  that is supposed to be the money in my bank account.  I’ve never seen all of my money in the bank, but a piece of paper every month says I have it.  When people pay me for fixing things in their home, they pay me with a piece of paper that is supposed to be the same as cash.  All of this requires faith.  When it doesn’t work, there is usually a good reason.  That reason is usually outside of our control. 

It was at that moment when my computer didn’t come on, that I stopped to believe.  Since I was ten years old, I’ve known there is a God.  There is electricity, there is God.  There is water, there is God.  There is air, there is God.  As long as I can remember, I’ve known there is a God.  If I ever doubted for one moment, my mother would remind me, there is a God.  He became the fabric of my life, without my even knowing how he became the fabric of my life. Even when I’ve  done all the right spiritual things, made all the right spiritual moves, and not seen the spiritual results I wanted, I’ve always known there was a God.  It’s in my being. 

Then this morning happened.

I frantically jabbed at the button to the computer, looked up at the light (which was on, but for some reason I looked anyway,) and then looked down at the surge protector beside my desk. 

The switch was off. 

In closing my window yesterday, I’d accidentally turned it off

I reached down and jabbed at the green switch, and obediently the computer sprang to life.  I found myself laughing at the irritation I’d felt earlier.  My initial reaction was that I’d blown another computer due to a power surge or excessive heat.  As I heard the fan motors whir, and the lights flash green, I stopped to believe once more in the mystery that is electricity. 

I do so much out of simple routine, and am rarely concerned about whether it works or not.  I never question whether the power will be there.  I never doubt that water will spill from my tap, and I very rarely doubt the hundreds of other things I rely on every day.  I often do the same thing with my relationship to the creator of the universe.  Most of the time, He goes unheeded, moving quietly in the background of my life, with little thought or appreciation on my part until something doesn’t work in my life.  It’s when everything is good and right, that I tend to forget he is there. His Spirit flows unseen through the walls and floors of my life only to exit at whatever ornate faucet I choose to let him spring from.  Even then, the water tap is usually opened only when I need something for myself.  More often than not, his power in my life serves me only.  When I do move beyond my own comfort zone, and make an attempt at being selfless, his power seems to do far more for others than he does for me.  This alone causes me stand in awe of Him. 

Yet, most of the time I’m oblivious of Him until I ask him for something I want, and don’t get it right away. Even then, I’ve discovered  it’s because I’ve done something to turn off the surge protector in my Spiritual walk, that prevents me from getting what I ask for.  Today, I willfully made a commitment to believe in him as much or more than I do the electric company, the water department, or any of the other far less faithful services in my life. 

Today, I stopped to believe. 

Sparrows must believe.