Stuck in the Tree of Security and Comfort

By Marty Norman –

We all like our comforts, our secure home where we live unchallenged, unyielding and unmoved. We love the place where we park ourselves at night, our trees and gardens, the block where we live. We are safe and secure; it is our home. Often it takes nothing short of an earthquake to dislodge us from this covering of safety.

That’s why mission trips are so hard.  Talk about getting out of your comfort zone. In a matter of hours one is transported from the safety of home, that cool, green shade of comfort that provides a canopy of safety and love to a different culture that consists of strange foods, habits, eating and sleeping arrangements, customs and languages. In other words, we are moved from our tree of comfort to a new tree from which we launch our day.

Sometimes it’s too much for even the seasoned missioner, not to mention the all-weather traveler, to contemplate

Summer is definitely the time for mission trips. Church groups, non-profits, individuals, youth groups, medical teams, college students, and others are all eager and willing to give of their time and expertise in order to experience the unknown in a far off land.

I, myself, have been on four mission trips.  Each one is unique, different, structured specifically by a loving God for a specific purpose and goal.  None of my mission trips have even halfway resembled another.  From the dark of a Tanzanian Africa, to the green hills of Ireland, from the seashores of Belize, to the river banks of Lake Malawi, I have answered the call when it came in order to do the will of He who calls out his people.

I remember my first mission trip in 1996. With trepidation I flew across the ocean to spend three weeks in Northern Malawi, East Africa. A life changing experience I was transformed by the people of that region known as the warm heart of Africa. A kinder, gentler people cannot be found on earth.  It was there I was introduced to the baobab tree a metaphorical symbol of the heart of these people. Thick, strong, large, with a canopy of leaves for comfort and exposed roots for strength it was a metaphor for the people and their tiny country. I knew immediately I was out of my element, transplanted into a place I’d never seen before. No security or comfort there, but somehow it seemed to fit.

In 2007 I went to Belize.  I remember watching the view out the window as the plane landed at the small airport in Belize City.  Most of the trees were green, but short. But ever so often a tall tree would burst forth from a clump of smaller trees. The Lord spoke to my heart.  Look for the tall trees, “ he said.  “You will encounter many people here in Belize – people of strong faith. They will stand head and shoulders above the rest.”  And indeed I did and they did.

Last summer I traveled to Tanzania, 27 hours, six stops one way, for a week long teaching mission in the heart of Tanzania. The travel alone was a challenge, but being allowed only 15 pounds of luggage almost put me over the top.  Somehow I managed without an ounce to spare. Traveling through the haunting landscape that is Tanzania, the green grass blowing in the wind, I marveled at the hundred year old trees standing guard at the entrance to villages. I felt protected. The first day I just walked around the taking photos of the amazing trees. Here a fire tree, there a baobab. Again out of my comfort zone, but comforted by their haunting beauty and the safety they represented. I was reminded that they are not unlike the trees of my own backyard.

Everywhere we went in Tanzania we met missionaries: from Dallas, Texas to Atlanta, Georgia, from the University of New Mexico, to San Francisco, people who left hearth and home to minister to God’s people in need.  All of a sudden I was surrounded by a garden of flowers, trees of every hue and color, blooming in an unknown land, spreading their aroma and fragrance of the gospel to all with whom they came in contact.

I remember thinking to myself, ‘How wonderful is that?  People taking time out of their busy lives to use their vacation time to give to others.  Only in America would you see this so widely practiced. Only in response to the call of God would you meet such dedicated souls.”  It just made me proud.

I am not going on a mission trip this year, but my good friend Debbie is.

I have just returned from helping her pack for a three week mission to New Zealand and Australia. Part teaching and part on-site ministry she must prepare for many venues. She has no idea what kind of trees she will encounter.

Her trip is complicated. Last week she fell and broke her wrist. She had to have surgery to put a steel plate in her arm.  She is not in a cast but has a sling and a brace.  But is she canceling?  Not on your life. Security or not, she is going.

I am astounded at her commitment and courage. This mission has been planned for months, so she would not hear of not going.  Clearly she has a call. And when one hears a call, how do you say no to the Lord. You don’t. Unless the Lord releases, you go.

So she is going. Limited not in spirit, but only in the use of her left arm she gives thanks that it is not her dominant arm.  Sternly instructed to not drive, lift anything heavy or carry anything of any weight, she reasons she is primed for the trip. All of her focus will be on the experience abroad rather than the things left undone at home, for she can’t do them anyway. She claims she will just move with the flow. Pretty ambitious by my way of thinking but she will not be dissuaded; she is determined to go. Who am I to argue with her or with God?

So help her I do. Even I can see that Satan is erecting all sorts of barriers in her way.  Clearly trying to discourage her, he continually puts up road blocks along the way to dishearten.  The good news:  he is not winning.

So that’s where I come in.

My job, pick out, fold and pack her clothes for three weeks.  We spent the morning going through her closet, coordinating, eliminating, refining, refreshing, figuring out, weighing, evaluating what would and would not work with a splint and her limitations.   After a few hours we had it all worked out. Now all I need to do is go to the grocery store and buy Ziploc bags to keep her clothes divided so she can better find what she needs.

I can’t wait for her to get back to the States to tell me all that the Lord has done. I know that she will describe her experiences in detail, the trees she encounters, the new things she learns. Surely she will have one large tale to tell.

Out of her comfort zone – you bet. But sturdy and strong she stands. Debbie is one of the tall trees of Belize. Her strength and courage stand heads above the rest. The winds may come and the winds may blow, but her roots are deep. Her tree stands tall. And after this month she will have more trees to add to her mission experience.  I can’t wait to see the acorns she brings back to plant. But even more, I can’t wait to see the oak trees that grow from her obedience.

How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!  (Romans  10:15 NIV)

 

Stop the World I Want To Get Off

By Marty Norman –

“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

Sometimes I think the world is spinning so fast that at any moment I am in danger of being slung into outer space as centrifugal force lets go of the physical properties that keep me hanging on for dear life. At least that’s how the world hits me most of the time especially in May and December.

As I sit down to write this article I am reminded that God continually tells us to be still and know that He is God.  It’s in the quiet moments, in the silence that we hear the whisper of God. If we drive through life racing down the street, the radio blaring, we are more than likely going to miss his wisdom and guidance as he whispers in our ear.

The story “The Brick” is a great example of this principal. Recently sent to me by a friend I decided that I would print it, for I couldn’t have said it better myself. I think in this short reading you will definitely get the point. The question is, is this you? It certainly is me a lot of the time.

The Brick, Author Unknown 

A young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. 

As his car passed no children appeared; instead, a brick smashed into the Jag’s side door. He slammed on the brakes and backed the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been thrown.

The angry driver jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car, shouting, “What was that all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing?  That’s a new car and that brick you threw is going to cost a lot of money. Why did you do it?”

The young boy was apologetic. “Please, mister, please. I’m sorry but I didn’t know what else to do. I threw the brick because no one else would stop.”

With tears dripping down his face, the youth pointed to a spot just around a parked car. “It’s my brother,” he said. “He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair, and I can’t lift him up.”

Now sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, “Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He’s hurt and he’s too heavy for me.”

Moved beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair, then took out a linen handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and cuts.  A quick look told him everything was going to be okay.

“Thank you and may God bless you,” the grateful child told the stranger.

Too shook for words, the man watched the boy push his wheelchair-bound brother down the sidewalk toward their home. It was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar. The damage was noticeable but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door. He kept the dent there to remind him of this message:

Don’t go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention.

What a great message and reminder. For God is in the business of whispering in our souls and speaking to our hearts. Sometimes when we don’t have time to listen, he has to throw a brick at us to get our attention. What’s important is that it’s our choice to listen or not to listen.

I think of the words that my grandmother used to say to me when I got so busy I wouldn’t slow down. “My dear, surely you know that God is always trying to get our attention. First he whispers in our ear, then he taps on our shoulder. If we don’t slow down he throws a brick at us. If this doesn’t work he hits us up beside the head.”

I’ve been in all four places. And I know you have too. Wouldn’t it be easier to stop and listen the first time than to have to go through all that pain and worry.

The moral of the story: Stop, look and listen. If we would but slow our cars down, better yet if we would park them on the side of the road, we might learn how to look at the world through God’s eyes. If we stay extremely still, we’ll be able to listen with God’s ears.

If you don’t, don’t be surprised when a brick comes out of nowhere and hits you on your head or your car on the side as you speed through life.

 

The Yellow Brick Road

By Marty Norman –

One of my favorite movies as a child was The Wizard of Oz.  Who couldn’t love Dorothy and Toto in Kansas?  She was every little girl back in the 1950s, Schwinn bike with basket, dog in tow. That could have been me, riding down that dirt road, pigtails blowing in the breeze, dog, Mike, not in tow but at foot.

But if you take a deeper look, the movie message was in the size, type and visuals of the different roads traveled. The roads of Oz and Kansas tell us a lot about life in general.

The first road in the movie is the dirt road in Kansas. With a storm a’brewing, we see Dorothy racing against time to beat the tornado to Auntie Em’s farm. But the dirt road does not serve her well. The message: being on the dirt road leads to destruction.

The next time we see Dorothy she is waking from being knocked out by the storm. Surrounded by flowers in bright colors, she knows intuitively that this is the way to go. And if she isn’t quick on the uptake, the yellow bricks offer a directional sign. The message: if you follow the yellow brick road you will come to the magical city, meet a wizard and get your wish.

The rest of the movie depicts Dorothy’s journey down this road. We follow who she meets, what happens when she gets off the road, and who befriends and attacks her along the way. The message: if only we would take the right road and stay on its path, everything will be ok.

Contrast that with the biblical message about roads. “Enter through the narrow gate,” Matthew tells us, “For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:14 NIV). Contrary to the yellow brick road, we discover that the wide road leads to destruction but the narrow road leads to life.

Recently I kept my two grandsons overnight, ages two and four. Per his routine, Strother, the four-year-old, likes to watch cartoons when he wakes. I try to avoid this as often as possible, but on this particular morning it was 6:00 a.m. and I just couldn’t seem to get my juices going. So I complied.

“Can we watch Sponge Bob?” he inquired, enthusiasm highlighting every word.

“How bad can that be,” I think to myself? “Sponge Bob” is pretty innocuous, right? It should be ok and I can get in a couple more minutes of shuteye.”

I was so wrong.

This particular episode was about bullying. Out of my sleepy stupor, I hear one of the main characters, I didn’t catch his name so I’ll call him Bubba, begin to take advantage of his size and bully the other kids. We started in the middle of the episode, at the point where Sponge Bob is telling his friends, “I can’t go to school today.  Bubba has said he is going to kick my butt.”

Now that got my attention. My eyes popped open and I was all ears. Before I could roll over he had said it four more times. By the time I sat up, his friends were saying “kick my butt,” Bubba was saying “kick his butt,” and the teacher was saying “kick your butt.” I should have turned the TV off, but I was mesmerized, stuck in a moment of time. I decided to count the number of times I heard the phrase “kick butt.” Are you ready?  Sixteen times in ten minutes. Yes, that is 16!

I was, am, and will continue to be horrified. No amount of spin, justification, excuses, or explanation will ever convince me that any child, much less a four-year-old, should be exposed to this kind of trash.

But the clincher came at the end. Bubba luckily had an epiphany, came to his senses and made friends with Sponge Bob. All was well. But in the last scene, the teacher, rather than making Bubba accountable and responsible for his actions, explained to Sponge Bob, “Don’t be mad a Bubba. It’s really not his fault. He is merely a victim of a society that is going down the wrong road.”

That’s right. Those were her exact words, “Victim of a society that is going down the wrong road.” What!

Now I don’t know about you. But in my book and according to the Scriptures I read, we are all responsible and accountable for our own actions and responses, regardless of the circumstances. Instead of passing on bad behavior, we are told to forgive and turn the other cheek. Clearly Bubba, or Bubba’s writers, hadn’t read the Scripture. The message presented was that Bubba is not responsible because he is a victim. And the perpetrator is society. Really?

I chose this topic for my column this week because I am outraged. First, I can’t believe anyone would see fit to put such a thing in an early morning cartoon when little ones are up and watching. Second, that sponsors would sponsor this. And last but not least, that anyone would think this fit for virgin ears.

Bless these precious ones’ hearts. And bless the parents who have to sit and monitor EVERY program their children watch. You just don’t know when something like “kick your butt” will sneak in. The Scriptures are clear. In the last days scoffers will sneak in and sit among us. Well grandparents, hold onto your hats. The scoffers are here and they are targeting your grandchildren. It’s time we take a stand.

I’m not sure yet what I plan to do about this. Clearly I told my son right away and he realizes it’s a big problem. I confessed that I did not jump out of the bed and turn off the TV. All I could muster was that I was in shock. I wanted to see how far they would go, and I found out -too far for my taste.

So if you are wondering which road to take next in life, let me assure you it is not the dirt road, the TV road or the yellow brick road. It is the narrow road. If you don’t know where that is, you better start looking fast – I think the tornadoes are hurling toward Kansas, and we are right in their path.

The Lord Will Build a House

By Marty Norman –

For two thousand years the Lord has been building a house. Brick by brick, stone upon stone he lays out his handiwork. As believers, we are the body of Christ; we are the church; we are the house. Slowly, surely, the Lord takes each of us and carefully places us one on top of another, in a pattern and format that only he knows and will complete.

Recently I attended the ordination of a deacon at an Anglican Church which so clearly drew out that picture for me in physical form. If you’ve never attended an ordination, you must. It was a powerful experience that got my mental juices working overtime.

The first thing noticed was that after a deacon is ordained, he stands at the altar to administer the Sacraments. Once he was a lay person; now he is a deacon, ordained for the work of God. As a minister of the Word he is now allowed to administer the Sacrament. So this was his very first time to participate in that role. Imagine how powerful his emotions must have been at that time.

I noticed that there were two or three men, ordained priests, assisting him. Then it hit me. They were there mentoring him. Just like Paul with Timothy, they were mentoring him in the ways of the Sacrament.

What a powerful picture. It occurred to me that in all our spiritual journeys we are to mentor and be mentored. For once God has anointed and appointed us to ministry, just as the newly ordained deacon is appointed and anointed, so, too must we all move forward in that ministry  through mentoring. After many years of discipleship and training, tutoring and learning, we will at some point move from mentoree to mentor, but not for a while. That is how faith is passed down from one generation to the next, one person at a time.

I also noticed the vestments. Following the laying on of hands, the two deacons were vested with the Dalmatic. The words spoken over them were “May the Lord clothe you with the garment of salvation and the vesture of gladness; may the Dalmatic of righteousness always cloak you in the name of the Lord.

I could hardly wait to get home and google “Dalamtic.” You can imagine my surprise when I found it to mean: “a long wide sleeved tunic which serves as a liturgical vestment in the Roman Catholic, Lutheran, Anglican, and United Methodist Church which is sometimes worn by the deacon at the Mass or other service” (Wikipedia).

According to my research, Dalmatics match the liturgical colors of the day. I wondered why the two were different. Then it hit me. The two men were from different churches. Therefore the vestments would be different. This, in turn, brought the twelve tribes of Israel to mind. A picture of heaven and the different tribes and cultures represented.

As I listened to the worship, which was glorious, ethereal and unearthly, I began to ponder what the Scriptures say what the kingdom of heaven will be like. The descriptions range from priceless jewels to glass. I thought to myself,  “This  must be what worship in the kingdom of heaven is like. Perhaps each church or tribe will be dressed differently to distinguish them one from another, all one family, yet different branches, denominations, cultures and countries.”

I also thought of the Old Testament, how all the feasts and festivals pointed to Jesus. The purpose was for the people to recognize him when he came. The lamb of God at the Passover, the blood on the windows and door frames for protection, the first fruits of the harvest, the sacrifice of blood, the bread on the altar, the empty tomb. It was all there, types and shadows to aid us in recognizing the Messiah when he came.

The traditions in the church were passed down from the Old Testament to the 1^st Century to now, thus a uniting of the old and new. Wasn’t God specific about how his temple was to be built, down to the centimeters and cubes, the colors of the yarn and the curtains?

There must be significance in these truths. I pondered their importance. Looking at the deacons’ radiant faces as they processed down the aisle gave me a glimpse into the joy that will be ours as we enter the heavenly places. Music blaring, pomp and circumstance, colorful vestments, it will truly be a grand celebration and welcoming.

The last and most significant event of the day was the sunlight. As the Bishop and the deacons moved about the altar, a bright ray of sunlight shone through the skylight above. If I didn’t know better, I would think that the Lord himself was highlighting and blessing the activity of the day. It was so profound in its timing.

God’s house has been built, will be built and is continuing to be built today. Stone upon stone we are part of a mighty fabric that will glorify God. How blessed we are to be observers and participants in the building of this glorious kingdom.

Wars and Rumors of War

By Marty Norman –

As I watch television these last few weeks and as I sit with a newspaper and a cup of coffee before me, I hardly can believe what my eyes and ears are seeing and hearing.  It is as if the entire world is on fire. And the hardest part is that I do not know whether this is good or bad. To my eyes, there is only chaos. I see no evidence of the gospel, though that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I hear no verbal thanks to God for this struggle for freedom in which so many are engaged. I am told by the nightly news that I am witnessing a fight for democracy, followed by a desire and stand by the brave to overthrow tyranny. I pray that this is so.

But as I ponder and pray, I can’t help but wonder if this freedom is not a false freedom. How can one truly be free if one doesn’t understand that it is only through Jesus that we are truly free. How can democracy be implemented if there is no understanding that the Creator endowed mankind with the gift of freedom, that it is the word of God and the truth of his testimony that bestow the gifts of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness upon all men. How can freedom be established if one does not acknowledge the giver of these gifts?

I wonder if the protestors know all of this.  I wonder if they know what freedom is.

I ask myself, have they not heard, have they not experienced the freedom that a life in Christ brings to those who hear the good news and accept it with joy? Do they not rejoice in the strength of Christ’s victory over sin and death rather than the death of a tyrannical state or dictator?  There is no crown of glory without the cross of suffering. Yet I’ve heard no word of thanksgiving to a loving father for the gift of freedom and salvation. Instead, it appears that God has been removed or at least set apart from the conversation as if this freedom fight were totally apart from the will of his hand.

That brings us to the season of Lent. As we meditate on the cross and its meaning these forty days, it is so important that we reflect on Jesus and his words to us in his last days on earth.

Watch out he tells us. “Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming ‘I am the Christ,’ and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains” (Matthew 24:4 NIV).

I do not know if we are at that place in time. The scripture is clear that we are not to try to figure out the day or the hour, for only the Father knows. But what I do know is that the world is a dark place. There are many hurting people in many countries. Nations, as well as individuals, feel hopeless, believing that there is no life, no hope for a future for them in their circumstance.

My heart goes out to these ones. Obviously many do not know Jesus and his promise of freedom.

If they did, they would understand the fullness of the gospel. They would look toward the Father as their deliverer and Jesus as their savior. That’s what this Easter is all about, a celebration of the cross and resurrection as the very things that bring hope and freedom. No longer would there be a need for demonstrations and riots. Instead a sense of thanksgiving would be instilled in each heart, coupled with the joy and knowledge of eternal life with the Creator. The truth of God’s word would be sought, and they would believe.

So as I approach Easter, I look at it with different eyes. Time is short. The hope and promise of the cross screams at me to listen to our Lord’s words for he tells us there is no hope for the world apart from him. And then he calls us to join him. “Go ye, therefore”, he says, “and make disciples of all nations.” In other words we are to do what he did, go to the ends of the earth and tell the good news that the kingdom of heaven is at hand. I ponder my role in the Great Commission. I wonder how I, in my small sphere of influence, can make a difference this Easter. I struggle with my desire to share the story of the empty tomb in light of current events, and I ponder how to share the good news of the resurrection to a hurting world.

I was reminded recently in a book by David Jeremiah What In The World Is Going On? that the tomb was not really empty. It was almost empty. This was something new for me and I have been pondering it ever since. Dr. Jeremiah reminds us that although Jesus’ body was not present, the grave clothes were, and they bore an imprint of his body. The shroud wrapped around his head, which he calls a napkin, was folded and placed apart from the grave clothes. I had not known the significance of this placement until then. Apparently in some mid eastern cultures, the custom regarding napkins is that if someone leaves the table the condition of their napkin is an indicator of their position in the meal. If it is crumbled and left on the table the indication is that he is finished and will not return. But if it is folded and neatly laid beside the plate it is indicative of his return.  This puts a whole new light on the empty tomb. For not only did Jesus say he would return but the symbolic gesture of the folded napkin, confirms that he definitely plans to return.

So how does that affect me?

A good place to start is to put aside the fear of wars and rumors of wars and concentrate on the person of Jesus. His presence and authority alone overpower any doubts or fear that I might I have. Instead I can concentrate on his resurrection and how I can partner with him in building his kingdom. I can pray for believers in that part of the world who have been placed there for such a time as this, that they might be bold, that they will stand firm in their faith. But most of all I can pray that they will share the good news with the hurting world in their sphere of influence.

So this Easter I am approaching the season with a two fold approach, a double edged sword you might say.  First I give thanks for Jesus and his sacrifice for me on the cross, his resurrection and the empty tomb which allows me to have eternal life because he lives. But secondly, I give thanks for the “almost” empty tomb, for his promise that he will come again. I look forward, not in fear, but in anticipation to that time, whether I be here in body or on the other side of the veil in spirit. I give thanks for the scriptures which act as my guide and teacher, and I look forward to his second coming as king and conqueror whenever that might be.

Hallelujah he has risen. He has risen indeed!

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