Author: rogerbothwell_kiywit

I had plenty of fuel to get home to the Napa Valley when I departed from Redlands, California. But soon, while over the western edge of the Mohave Desert, I encountered much stronger head winds than forecast. It became evident I was going to have to refuel somewhere up the coast. Fuel consumption is measured not in miles covered but in hours in the air. As I neared San Francisco I decided it would be interesting to stop at SFO. I fully expected the control tower to bring me in on a small runway designed for private aviation but was pleasantly surprised to be led to one of the two giant side by side runways designed for 747s. It was a real treat.

As soon as I touched down a truck appeared in front of me with a large sign that read, “Follow me.” He would lead me to fuel. As I taxied behind him I thought how interesting it would be if the sign read, “Matthew 16:24.” Few pilots would even have a clue. This was in such contrast to construction trucks on highways that say, “Don’t follow me.”

We all follow someone. Whether our pride allows it or not each of us is influenced by role models and our behavior, upon study, would reveal who it is. Following Jesus is the best ever role model anyone anywhere could ever emulate. He will take us to destinations far beyond our ability to think or imagine. He will not only change our behavior, He will make us anew. Following Jesus is not “off to see the wizard” but off to see unnumbered worlds filled with dazzling creatures who have never sinned and have only lived to serve others. Come with me. Let’s live forever.

I mentioned to a friend that all last week I had spaghetti for breakfast. He thought I was daft. People don’t eat spaghetti for breakfast. When I asked him why not, the only real answer I could get from him was because that isn’t what we do. How very easy it is for convention to dictate to us what we can and cannot do. The power of culture, the routine of life, the hold of habit are so very strong; even to the point of sometimes mistakenly assigning moral implications of right and wrong to something with absolutely no Biblical basis or real ethical foundation.

Several years ago a Baptist pastor friend and I decided to unite our churches one evening for a joint communion service. It was a beautiful experience that changed our community. Because we did some things a bit differently we did some their way and some our way. They did not have deacons pass the emblems to the people where they were seated but had the worshippers come to the front to receive the emblems from the pastors. It was amusing to watch the expressions on the faces of our members when we asked them to the front. You could almost see the smoke coming from their ears as their brains went into high gear trying to decide if this was morally right or wrong. Finally a few got it that the geography of where one ate the bread had nothing to do with its’ significance. When they came the others followed.

Before we begin making a issue of something we should clearly understand beforehand if this is cultural tradition or God directed. God loves nothing more than a clear thinking child.

When one is a pastor one meets a vast array of interesting people. When I am eighty I want to write a book about the “Stray Dogs and Alley Cats”* who through the years attended my church. (I need to wait until I am eighty to make sure they are dead lest someone put two and two together.) One morning when we had over three thousand present someone whispered in my ear that the Zodiac killer had been in church. This was north of San Francisco. In a different part of the country (We moved a lot.) on many occasions I had a man come who had confessed to me of taking contracts for the mob. I could contrast this with an evangelist who told me his goal was to win so many souls for Jesus his crown would be the brightest in heaven. We once had a man who brought both his wife and girlfriend to church and sit with his arm around his girlfriend while she snuggled.

All of this brings me to Harley Allen’s song Stray Dogs and Alley Cats. Some of the lyrics go like this.

“To bad for heaven and to good for hell
Little wings are better than big tails
I don’t expect to sit at god’s right hand
I could empty heavens garbage cans
Hope there is room on those golden streets
For stray dogs and alley cats like me.”

I find myself thinking there is very little difference between killer and evangelist, except maybe, the killer knew he needed Jesus. I’m not sure the evangelist did. The good news is found in Hebrews 7:25, “He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him.”

*My thanks to Harley Allen.

It is a rare person or group of people who does not long to be exceptional. Nations build monuments to their own glory. Richard Nixon made sure his signature and title were engraved on plaques affixed to the Apollo 11 and Apollo 17 spacecrafts. I have had colleagues who demanded their students address them as doctor. Even religious groups (perhaps especially religious groups) want to bask in their specialness as God’s unique people. I am not convinced God is overly thrilled with our ego’s seeking ownership of His care and love.

One of the first songs I ever learned was, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, all are precious in His sight.” In Deuteronomy 10:17 we read, “For the LORD your God is the God of gods and the Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God who does not show partiality nor take a bribe.”

What a great verse that is. God does not take bribes. One’s largess means little if anything to Him since He was the one responsible for your having some wealth. It is like giving your children money enabling them to buy you a Christmas present. We want so badly to be special. The bad news is we aren’t. The good news is that doesn’t matter because each of us is a son or daughter of the King of the universe with all the rights and privileges that come with that. I say this with much fake humility since down deep in my heart I know my heavenly home will be nicer than yours. (I think that sentence just disqualified me from getting any home.) But wait He is able to save to the guttermost. I’m still in.

A sandwich is a wonderful thing.  You start with two pieces of bread and the rest is all creativity. The possible combinations are infinite.  The end product is a work of art spanning the culinary range of a PB&J to a Dagwood.  I inherited my love for sandwiches from my father; though, I do hope my sandwiches are a bit healthier than his.  His idea of paradise was two slices of white Wonder bread laden with mustard and Lebanon Baloney washed down with an ice cold Pepsi.  It is no wonder he barely made it into his seventies.  It doesn’t have to be that way.  Depending upon one’s choices a sandwich can be extremely healthy.

Sandwiches are like people. We start with a baby and the possibilities are limitless depending upon what ingredients we use.  Our choices range not only from the physical diet to surely the more important mental diet. We can fill the baby’s mind with wholesome, character building ideas or pour in useless drivel.  As we age the choices become ours.  We can watch endless hours of useless television or we can fill our minds with God’s Word thus preparing ourselves for a never ending life of infinite possibilities.

Psalm 119 is filled with promises of outstanding mental growth resulting from what we mentally ingest.  “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.”  Verse 11.  “I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation.” Verse 99.  “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”  Verse 105.  “I hate vain thoughts: but thy law do I love.” Verse 113.

A sandwich can grow stale.  May that never happen to you and me.  Stay fresh my friend.

The first time I ever heard the title professor emeritus I was quite impressed. It was at a graduation service and I thought it meant the prof was super good. Little did I know it had more to do with being OLD than with the quality of past lectures. When I opened my mail today a card fell out of an envelope containing, you guessed it, an “Emeritus Commissioned Ministry of Teaching Credential.” To reinforce the situation, in order to read the card I had to get out a magnifying glass.

Since it did not reflect the quality of decades of classroom performance I spent the afternoon wondering about what I do do that is good. I have come to the conclusion I am a very good sinner. I realize that is an oxymoron but I am very good at sinning and then skilled at trying to cover it up. I should receive a credential recognizing that skill.

Paul must have felt that way when he wrote, “Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners–of whom I am the worst.” I Timothy 1:15. He also wrote the following about himself. “Though I am less than the least of all the saints, this grace was given me: to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ.” Ephesians 3:8. He said he was less than the least. With Paul it wasn’t about Paul. It was all about Jesus. In Mark 2:17 we read this wonderful verse, “On hearing this, Jesus told them, ‘It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.’”

Therefore if you also belong to the “good sinners club” rejoice and be exceedingly happy because Jesus loves you very much.

When I was very small my parents gave me thirty-five cents a week.  Twenty-five cents was for the mission offering at church and ten cents was for me.  We had a treasure land for a neighborhood store run by a man with no legs.  He slid around the well worn wooden floor on a large piece of leather that was somehow strapped to his waist.  When you walked in immediately to the right was a glass case filled with penny candy.  There were Mary Janes, gummy bears, marshmallow peanuts, wax lips and other wonders.  Best of all there was a comic book rack and they were only ten cents each.  If I wanted a comic book I had to forgo the candy.  It was my choice.  Most of the time I opted for a Donald Duck comic, but sometimes I got a Superman. 
 
I remember one week in church they showed us a picture of a small child in Africa that needed food.  That week I did not get a comic book or candy.  It was not a difficult decision.  Often for supper we had dark cornpone and milk.  I thought we were rich.  And we were when compared to the child in Africa.  So much of life is relative.  Little could I have imagined that decades later I would spend six years in Africa and would have many occasions to be reminded of that little boy in the picture.
 
Life is the sum of our choices; here and forever.  The most important of all is our commitment to Jesus and the acceptance of His gift and grace.  Then comes eternal life with an infinite amount of choices.  What we become, where we will go, what we will learn will be our choice.

I am sitting here staring at my keyboard. (Not music – I don’t know what to do with one of those.  This one has letters not black and white keys.)  It is a marvelous thing.  It talks.  It says anything I want it to say.  With it I can spread hope or despair.  With it I can build good or with it I can destroy. It is an outlet for my mind.  It is amazing.  When we think about it we can transfer thoughts from one mind to another and if we print what we key in, those thoughts can be transferred to other minds years and decades after our minds are thoughtlessly dead.
Thousands of years before my keyboard was the Psalmist wrote, “May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.”  Psalm 19:14.  How did he write that?  Did he have a stenographer?

The 21st century equivalent of that verse would be, “Let the words of my keyboard and these thoughts of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, and may they spread the good news of Jesus love to all the world via the wonder of the Internet.”

I realize that rendition isn’t nearly as poetic and beautiful but it certainly is my prayer as I assure you that Jesus loves you, forgives you from ALL your transgressions and has reserved a place just for you.  Your name is already engraved on the door of your heavenly home.  I also pray that the words of your keyboard posted on Facebook or wherever will always be positive and filled with the joy of salvation.

There are some things so very important and so weighty they should not be witnessed by others.  Matthew 27:45 records such a moment in time. “From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land.”  Jesus has been on the cross for three hours and with the end coming, the agony of separation from His Father, the mental anguish had superseded the horror of the unthinkable physical abuse.  It was time for Jesus to pay the price for our sins.  He who knew no sin had vicariously assumed our guilt.  It was time for Him to die our deserved death that we can live His deserved life.
 
The ignorant evil crowd being unprepared for total darkness at noon stumbled about in an effort to retreat from site of their evil deed.  They did not deserve to see the cross and the naked broken body of the creator of the universe.  Angels sobbed in shock.  While they knew what was coming the reality was so much worse than  their anticipation of the moment. No one was to watch.  Alone He suffered.  Alone He fended off the taunts of Lucifer, His old friend.  Lucifer was so sure he could make this moment so bad Jesus would give up.  But Jesus would pay the price at any cost for you and me.
 
I had a friend once tell me when in heaven he wants to watch the video.  I have sincere doubts that once he catches a glimpse of the torn flesh and gaping wounds from the nails he will bury his head in his hands.  No one can or should ever watch.     A thousand years from now our love for Him will have so grown, more than ever we will not be able to watch.

English is not a proud language.  It has no shame in adding new words to its ever growing inventory of available units of communication.  Each year the publishers of dictionaries include new words taken from current usage.  One of this year’s additions is sheeple, a portmanteau of sheep and people.  Once we say it, the meaning speaks for itself.  We sheepishly follow the crowd.  What’s trending on Facebook is an example of something catching the fancy of a few and then having millions follow.  Fashions regularly produce the “emperor’s clothes” because thought leaders start something and the rest of us fear to be different.
 
1000 years before Jesus came to us David wrote Psalm 23.  800 years before Jesus, Isaiah noted in chapter 53, “All we like sheep have gone astray.”  Handel even included it in his famous oratorio The Messiah.  In Matthew 9 we read, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”  Our sheepish behavior is nothing new.  But how wonderful it is that Jesus not only understands, He has compassion on sheeple.  One of His most familiar parables is about the one lost sheep and the shepherd going out to search for it.
 
Just as long as Jesus keeps loving sheeple I don’t mind being one.  I could think of many worse things to be.  Jesus said, “Follow me.”  My response is gladly, because we know where He leads.  Heaven will be full of sheeple. The challenge is to know who to follow. That is the main task of the Holy Spirit.  He woos us, nudges us and sometimes shoves us in the right direction.  Jesus said, “I am the way.”   So come and join me.  I’m a sheeple and you’re a sheeple and together we will be led home.