Dialog

Scientists who measure such things say the pain of childbirth and the pain of passing a kidney stone are equivalent. (What kind of a person measures such things?) So what is the difference? Give birth and people celebrate. They throw parties and give presents, but pass a kidney stone and all you get is relief. 

Some pain is debilitating. Who can enjoy life with a toothache or a migraine? But other pain simply confirms you are alive. Think about the pain you feel after dragging yourself up on the beach after a long swim—a couple of deep breaths, and you towel your hair as you stretch. There is pain, but it’s a good pain. 

One night, after evening church services, Jan came running into the auditorium, shouting, “John! Santa Teresa has broken free from her mooring and is headed for the rocks!” There was a terrible storm in San Diego that night. The winds and the waves were so bad that the harbor police recalled all of their boats. If you were in trouble, you were on your own. 

I didn’t bother changing clothes. Jan and I jumped into our car and raced to the beach. Even with the wipers going full speed, it was hard to see. The wind buffeted us as we crossed the Coronado Bridge, but we could see Santa Teresa just off the beach, heeled over on her side, with the surf pounding her! Jan called one of our neighbors. Stewart and I pushed our dinghy into the waves, and I rowed with all of my strength. It was a miracle that I could get aboard her at that crazy angle, with the foam crashing over the decks. 

The first task was to get an anchor over the stern to keep her from being pushed any farther onto the beach or into the rocks. I heard a shout and there was Stewart in his dinghy. I lowered the big bow anchor into his boat and he rowed as far as he could into the bay before dropping it over the side. A coast guard fast boat arrived, but they only rescue drowning people—they don’t rescue boats. They waited in the distance, but gave the harbor police (who showed up in a patrol car) a blow-by-blow description of what we were doing. Jan was in a harbor police patrol car, praying, and she heard them say, “We’ve never seen such seamanship!” Stewart was battling the waves in his tiny boat and I was cranking in the anchor line in, inch by painful inch. I was certain that the line would snap under the strain, but it didn’t. Slowly, and almost imperceivable, Santa Teresa began to move backward through the mud, sand, and rocks. I prayed that the hull was whole. 

Stewart climbed back on board and, together, exhausted, we continued to crank. Now we could feel it. She was fighting to get free of the death grip. We were moving! Proudly she righted herself, and I fired up the engine. We couldn’t raise the anchors, so I tied floats on them and cut them free. We were moving! We were sailing! We headed back to the mooring ball, but how could we catch it in these waves, and with this wind? Stewart made a lasso out of what was left of an anchor line and hung over the side. Santa Teresa was bucking like a wild animal as we approached. Twice we missed and three times I had to come around again. On the third try, Stewart looped the big, white ball and snubbed us to a stop. 

We were a mess, exhausted, soaked, and cold. Below, the cabin was a mess. There was an anchor from a boat Santa Teresa hit when she broke free. It was sitting on a bookshelf under a hole in the deck above. Who knew what other surprises were waiting? Was there a hole in the hull? Had the keel been cracked? The answers would have to wait until morning. I passed out towels and dry clothes, the teakettle whistled, as Stewart and I took stock. We were in pain, but it was a good pain. The kind of pain that tells you that you’re alive. 

So how can a Good God allow so much pain in his world? It seems the height of hubris for me to even try to answer that question, but I can make three observations. First, the same sensors that register pain can also register pleasure. The same nerves that shout, “The stove is hot!” also say, “Phoebe’s fur is soft.” Pain and pleasure are part of the same continuum. Second, pain becomes acceptable when it has meaning. The pain of childbirth is bearable because it has meaning. We tolerate the dentist’s drill because it will cure our toothache. I can accept the pain in my muscles because I know I’m getting stronger. Finally, pain can represent value. A painting is valued by how much someone is willing to sacrifice to obtain it. Stewart’s friendship is precious, because he was willing to endure so much pain and hardship just to help me. 

A final observation: God is not sadistic. He does not stand apart from our pain, but endures it with us. God is not unmoved by our grief and suffering. Do you remember the scripture that simply says, “Jesus wept”? (John 11:35) How much more does Jesus prove his love for us than by his willingness to die for us? Be a Blessing!

  
from my book, Changing Tacks: Lessons from an Old Wooden Boat

I love getting in our dinghy and rowing out away from our sailboat. I’m not trying to escape, but to gain perspective. I love to look at her sitting at anchor. She has classic lines from her long, beautiful bowsprit to the sweet upturn of her transom. 

The surprising thing is what you don’t see. If you don’t count the masts that hold the sails up in the air, there is much more sailboat below the water than above! The seven-foot keel sticks down into the ocean and weighs over 9,000 pounds. It stretches from the bow to the stern and her purpose is to keep us sailing upright. When the winds howl and threaten to turn us upside down, the keel fights back and keeps us on course. 

For a Christian, the Holy Spirit is the equivalent to a keel. Temptations and trials may threaten to turn us upside down, but the Holy Spirit keeps us upright and on course. While the Holy Spirit is quiet, lying there just below the surface, he gives stability to everything we do and helps us pass through every storm. 
Be a Blessing!

from my book, Changing Tacks: Lessons I’ve Learned from an Old Wooden Boat

The Christian life is a life lived to the fullest. This is my Father’s world, and so, I’ve had many adventures. Each year since I became a Christian, I’ve tried to learn something new and exciting. I began sailing at fourteen, and that was followed by soaring, spelunking, backpacking, mountain climbing, skiing (downhill and cross-country), fly-fishing, scuba diving, and many more adventures. 

Sometimes, the hobby will become an obsession, but then, there are years I would just as soon forget. (The year I learned to golf comes to mind.) But one hobby I dearly love is scuba diving. I was so enthusiastic about the undersea world that my dad decided to learn to dive while he was living in Florida. When he came to visit me in California, he wanted to go diving in one of the great kelp forests he had heard me talking about. 

I was a bit nervous about taking him there. Yes, they are magnificent. You feel like a giant bird soaring through a magical forest. The rays of sunlight pour down through the leaves, and strange creatures swim all around you. But it can quickly become a nightmare if you become tangled or panic. Dad was used to the warm waters of Florida, but this was the Pacific, and the water was so cold that you needed to wrap yourself in a thick wet suit. Some people become claustrophobic. There were a thousand things for me to worry about as Dad and I waded through the surf and swam out to his first kelp bed. I kept a close eye on him as we submerged. 

It was everything I had hoped for! What an incredible day, but then, I noticed a stream of bubbles flowing uncontrollably from Dad’s regulator. Something was wrong! What was the matter? Urgently, I beat my knife on my scuba tank to get his attention and signaled “surface.” 

“Dad! What’s wrong? Your regulator was running out of control!” 

He pulled up his mask and took the regulator out of his mouth. He was grinning from ear to ear. “It’s just like you said, son. God did such a great job that I just couldn’t help but sing!” The bubbles were the chorus of Dad’s hymn to the Creator. 

Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised, and his greatness is unsearchable. 
One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts. 
On the glorious splendor of your majesty,
and on your wondrous works, I will meditate. 
They shall speak of the might of your awesome deeds, and I will declare your greatness. 
They shall pour forth the fame of your abundant goodness and shall sing aloud of your righteousness. 

Psalm 145:3-7

from my book, Changing Tacks: Lessons I’ve Learned from an Old Wooden Boat

I’m not afraid to admit it: chain saws scare me, but can you imagine trying to cut through a log without turning the saw on? That’s exactly how many Christians feel about the Holy Spirit. Although we are promised the gift of the Holy Spirit when we become a Christian (Acts 2:38), many Christians don’t unwrap the present. It’s as if they are so excited about the bow and the fancy wrapping paper; they just put the gift on the mantle above the fireplace for everyone to see. 

“My, what a lovely package! What’s in it?” 

How sad. Without “power,” power steering, power brakes, and power tools are practically useless. The Holy Spirit is our power to change. 

Have you ever thought about it? Why do we call the Spirit “Holy?” We rarely talk about the Holy Father or the Holy Son, so why do we emphasize Holy Spirit? 

It might be to distinguish the Holy Spirit from evil or unclean spirits, but I think there is more to it than that. Just as Jesus is called the “Christ” because he is the Messiah—that’s his job, so the Spirit is called “Holy” because that is what he does. 

Theologians point out how we are justified when we become Christians (“Just-as-if-I’d never sinned”). They also tell us, we are continually sanctified (made holy) as we grow in Christ. How is that kind of change made possible? Through the power of the Spirit, who is making us holy. 

So how do we “unwrap the package”? Paul told the Romans, “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God” (Romans 8:14). We are led by the Spirit when we follow him. That requires us to listen, trust, and obey.
Be a Blessing!

 
from my book, Changing Tacks: Lessons from an Old Wooden Boat

I wonder if the wolf in Jesus’ parable realized he was a wolf in disguise, or if he believed he was truly a lamb, but with a taste for mutton? Jesus warned us:

 “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” (Matthew 7:15).

Sadly, it’s not just false prophets who wear disguises. We seem to encounter pretenders in every walk of life. Anna Chui writes:

“The person who is kind to you, but undercuts you when you aren’t around is a wolf in disguise. A wolf in sheep’s clothing might pick your brain for ideas and then pass them off as their own to get a promotion. They’re always looking out for themselves at the expense of everyone around them.”[1]

What are some practical ways we can protect ourselves from phonies?

Grandma taught us to check their teeth. You can learn a lot about a person from their smile. Wolves and sheep have very different grins! When some people smile, they smile with their whole body. Others smile, but the rest of their body, their eyes, and their hands tell a very different story.

Ms. Chui shares these observations about wolves:

• They live to take power instead of empowering others.
• A wolf will charm you first.
• They manipulate through emotions to get what they want.
• Their stories are full of holes  [1] .

Imagine a conversation between the disguised wolf and the rest of the flock. “What kind of grass do you like?” Asking questions is a powerful wolf detector!

My little sister was a bank manager, and the government invited her to attend a symposium on detecting counterfeits. The surprising thing was, they didn’t touch a single fake bill during the whole program. Instead, they spent all their time inspecting the real thing. By the end of the three-day conference, they were so familiar with genuine currency; a fake was instantly recognized. That’s good advice for identifying Christians too.

Finally, in the very next verse, Jesus gives us the best advice: “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). Jesus warned us not to be judgmental (Matthew 7:1). But, as Marshall Keeble use to say, “I’m not a judge! I’m a fruit inspector!” Watch out, wolves! We’re no ordinary sheep.

Be a Blessing!

  [1] https://www.lifehack.org/648887/how-to-detect-a-wolf-in-sheeps-clothing

The mob was out of control. It flooded the hillside theater and spilled over onto the center stage. Gaius and Aristarchus were the focus of their wrath. Their clothes were torn. They were bruised and bleeding from having been dragged through the streets of Ephesus. Even if they had been great orators, it would have been futile to try and address the rioters.

Helpless, the Apostle Paul was nearby. He feared for the lives of his friends who the mob had captured as they searched for him. He felt responsible, but he was powerless. One part of him desired to enter the theater and face down the crowd, but his disciples and even the “Asiarchs” (the leading citizens of Ephesus) begged him not to go. There was nothing he could do but pray. 

Meanwhile, the pair endured the angry chants of the crowd. “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians! Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” they taunted. Gaius and Aristarchus recognized the irony as well as the futility of the mob’s refrain. Artemis was anything but great. She was simply a grotesque, multi-breasted idol carved from a single meteorite. Only the Ephesians’ credulous superstition had made her “great.” If the truth was known, the only greatness was the profit the city merchants were making from the sale of religious souvenirs. They were the ones who had started this riot as a desperate measure to stem the tide of Christian converts.

Two hours passed. For two hours, the crowd shouted in unison. For two hours, the disciples watched. For two hours, they listened to 20,000 people chant. For two hours, the Christians prayed. Finally, the mob had grown hoarse enough that the voice of reason prevailed. The city clerk dismissed the crowd, and order was restored. Gaius and Aristarchus were freed.

Many years later, Aristarchus smiled as he recounted the most chilling episode of his life. That event had instilled quiet confidence in the young Macedonian. Never again would he know fear in the same way as he had on that day. Even during the two weeks of a storm at sea or the shipwreck that followed, he did not fear. He simply trusted in the God who had rescued him. Aristarchus had learned that God stands by people that stand by him.

Questions

1. What country was Aristarchus from? (Can you find it on a map?)
2. What city was he from? (Acts 20:4)
3. In Acts 20, why is he traveling with Paul?
4. What island was he shipwrecked with Paul on?
5. Why was Aristarchus allowed to travel with Paul the prisoner?
6. Why do you think the crowd captured Aristarchus and Gaius?
7. If you had been in their place in the theater, what would you have been thinking about?
8. What do you think Gaius and Aristarchus said to each other in the theater?
9. Is it easier to be brave alone or with someone else?
10. How does being a Christian help you face fear?

“Why were Luke and Aristarchus allowed to travel with Paul?”

Luke uses the first person throughout the following narrative, and he was therefore in Paul’s company. But how was this permitted? It is hardly possible to suppose that the prisoner’s friends were allowed to accompany him. Pliny mentions a case in point (Epist. III 16). Paetus was brought a prisoner from Illyricum to Rome. His wife Arria vainly begged leave to accompany him; several slaves were permitted to go with him as waiters, valets, etc. Arria offered herself alone to perform all their duties, but her prayer was refused. The analogy shows how Luke and Aristarchus accompanied Paul: they must have gone as his slaves, not merely performing the duties of slaves (as Arria offered to do), but actually passing as slaves. In this way, not merely had Paul’s faithful friends always beside him; his importance in the eyes of the centurion was much enhanced, and that was of great importance. The narrative implies that Paul enjoyed much respect during this voyage, such as a penniless traveler without a servant to attend on him would never receive either in the first century or the nineteenth.

A rudder is a tiny part of a boat. It is tiny compared to the tall sails and amounts to only a fraction of the size of the keel, but big things often come in small packages.

Jan and I were sailing in our first boat, a little 22-foot sloop, in the northern Sea of Cortez in Mexico. I had been up all night when Jan started her watch. There was hardly any wind, and our destination was nearly twenty miles away. I settled into a bunk below and left Jan and her big straw hat at the tiller. When I woke four hours later, she was grinning from ear to ear. Wanda Sue was heeled far over, and we were charging ahead like a racehorse. It was time to “reef the sails.” (Reefing makes the sails smaller so the wind can’t push the boat over on her side or perhaps even capsize her.)

I climbed up on top of the cabin and began to lower the mainsail. Suddenly Wanda Sue swerved out of control. It knocked me down, and I glared at Jan. She looked back in surprise. I was sure the erratic maneuver was her fault, but Jan hadn’t moved the tiller at all. The rudder had snapped, leaving the boat out of control! (Later, we discovered it was my fault. I repaired the rudder after I broke it, backing down a trailer ramp. My first attempt at fiberglass repairs was a disaster, and the strong waves and winds had snapped the rudder in two.) 

Without a rudder and with a storm bearing down on us, we were in serious trouble. I started up the little Johnson outboard motor and used it to steer us safely across the sea. We ended up in a little bay fifty miles from the nearest village. It took two days to patch together a new rudder from hatch boards, duct tape, lashings, and a pair of aluminum oar handles. 

The rudder may be a tiny part of your boat, but it does great things. James, the brother of Jesus, compared our tongues to the rudder of a ship:

We all stumble in many ways. If anyone is never at fault in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to keep his whole body in check. 

When we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we can turn the whole animal. Or take ships as an example. Although they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot wants to go. Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts (James 3:2-5).

Many people might have given up on sailing after an experience like that, but together, Jan and I made it back to Puerto Penasco (“Rocky Point”). Since this was Jan’s first long trip, I was afraid it would be our last. (Not only did we lose the rudder, but we also lost two anchors and ended up hard aground in the middle of a giant mudflat at low tide!) Jan didn’t let it curb her enthusiasm. As we limped back to Rocky Point, she looked at me with a big smile and declared, “We’ve got to get a bigger boat!”

Some of the best advice I ever received on preaching came from one of my first elders, Dean Brookshire. He was a retired minister and told me, “John, prayer, and patience will solve 90% of the problems in the church.” Dean was right, and I wish I had practiced his advice more often over the years. Like most ministers, I have a burning desire to right wrongs and speak out against what I see as injustice. I carry “righteous indignation” in my breast pocket, so when Stephen told the Sanhedrin:

 “You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist the Holy Spirit. As your fathers did, so do you. Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? And they killed those who announced beforehand the coming of the Righteous One, whom you have now betrayed and murdered, you who received the law as delivered by angels and did not keep it” (Acts 7:51 – 53).

I am shouting from the back of the hall, “Amen, brother! Preach on!” My blood is boiling.

Thankfully, we aren’t called on to echo Stephen’s defense very often. Those who do are most often slaves of pride (“I know best!”), and guilty of stirring up dissension in the congregation. They seem to thrive on controversy. Paul told Timothy:

As I urged you when I was going to Macedonia, remain at Ephesus so that you may charge certain persons not to teach any different doctrine, nor to devote themselves to myths and endless genealogies, which promote speculations rather than the stewardship from God that is by faith. The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith. Certain persons, by swerving from these, have wandered away into vain discussion, desiring to be teachers of the law, without understanding either what they are saying or the things about which they make confident assertions (1 Timothy 1:3 – 7).

“The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith.” Even though Stephen had to say some tough things, did you notice how Luke describes him? “And gazing at him, all who sat in the council saw that his face was like the face of an angel” (Acts 6:15).

Having the face of an angel doesn’t come from wearing sunscreen and exfoliating your skin every night before bed. It comes from love that springs from “a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith.”