Tag Archives: Christians

by | May 17, 2018 · 9:15 pm

One Soweth, and Another Reapeth…

“Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest. And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life eternal: that both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together. And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth. I sent you to reap that whereon ye bestowed no labour: other men laboured, and ye are entered into their labours.” – John 4:35-38

 

It had been a long day at school, so it was not by choice that I sat waiting for the salesperson to work on our order at the wireless store. I tried to remain positive and tell myself that God had put me there for a purpose. At that present time, it wasn’t obvious; at least not yet.

We had put off switching to a new wireless carrier for some time, but it had finally gotten to the point if we wanted to communicate as needed, we were going to have to use the service that provided the best coverage for the area in which we lived and worked.  The young man that waited on me was very kind and extremely courteous. As he began the process of transferring data from one device to the other, we started talking about where I worked and found that we had mutual connections. It wasn’t long before it became apparent, he was a believer too. In fact, after we shared some personal testimony, he told me that he had given his two weeks’ notice just moments before I stepped foot in the door to answer his calling to become a youth pastor at a nearby church.

It was then I began to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit ripple across my forearms.

Suddenly, his phone rang, and he had to excuse himself from our conversation.

About that time message appeared on my old phone which we had not yet ported over to the new service. The news was from a distant relative, one that I’ve never met in person. A few years back, I had shared with him part of our Waldensian ancestry and how we came to be. He seemed interested, but not beyond just wanting to hear about those ancient names. The story beyond, from whence we came didn’t seem to intrigue him; at least not from my vantage point. Once I provided him the information, we only remained in contact through shared “likes” on social media.  However, from what I saw from his posts, his life once was devoured by pleasures of the flesh. He found his comfort at the end of a bottle, so the pictures said. But the message at that moment that came to me as I sat in the cell phone store in Boone was that God had found a way to reach him.

As I read with eyes of joy, he told a friend who had inquired about his post, “I haven’t touched a drop in over a year.” He then went on to say how he was regularly attending a church in his community. My heart leaped for joy, and I stood up, rejoicing out loud. The questions raced through my mind, “Had I somehow planted a seed?” “Did God use that seemingly insignificant contact years ago to begin working on my distant cousin?” Those and many more rushed through my mind as my new friend got off the phone smiling at my exuberant demeanor.

“I guess that was good news,” he said pointing at my phone.

“Oh, yes, more than I can explain,” pausing to gain understanding of what had all just transpired.

Then the words of Jesus came rushing in, “And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth.”

In all things, no matter how small, nor how insignificant, God has a purpose. As I stood there in that small store, I had found another soul that had recently taken another leap of faith. As we talked the thought of another time and place when my just being somewhere was God using me, and again, it felt the same. Yet, now as I stood there, another soul had found something greater than that which is in the world.

With each tiny seed we plant, we may not reap the harvest, but it is God that will bring the crop to fruition. It is not us that will change that being. It is not our doing that will cause another to turn to Christ; it is God, and God alone.

In all that we do, there is a purpose.

Last Saturday, as we sat watching the Western Piedmont Community College graduates ascend the short stairway to the stage, the feeling of a proud parent swelled our chests. In what seemed like yesterday, I was holding him in my arms for the first time, watching the helpless lifeform, totally dependent upon his mother and father to survive. Our son now stood in his graduation regalia receiving his diploma, then leaving the stage, returned to his seat. His independence is a culmination of 18 years of love, care, and patience. What God hath given life unto us, we have taken that responsibility and nurtured him into adulthood. “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required,” reads Luke 12:48 And so with eyes brimming with moisture, we know that soon he will leave us. It is only natural.

We had planted the seed. It is up to him to continue to allow it to grow. But the seed had begun to ripen much earlier.

For those many years of his life, we have taught him how to live in faith. At the tender age of 10 years, he found Christ. His salvation came in a little model Church at the Denton Bluegrass Festival. Every year, Doyle Lawson would offer those who wanted to attend, a church service at the close of his festival. One of his good friends, brother Dale Tilley, would most often be the preacher. And so it was this Mother’s Day weekend when we sat in the row just behind Doyle’s band, that we heard brother Tilley bring another spirit-filled sermon to a weary group of bluegrass campers. After brother Dale Tilley had nearly finished his altar call, my weekend was just about to get even better. Without any idea what was about to happen, my boy leaned over to me and whispered the words into my ear that I will never forget, “I want to be saved.”

My heart leaped for joy.

Upon his request to wait until everyone had left, I motioned to brother Tilley that we needed to talk, and as everyone ushered themselves out, the door closed and we were alone. Brother Tilley directed us through the process as we knelt in prayer and supplication. There on that ancient wooden floor of the little white clapboard country church, my son spoke the words and prayed the prayer to ask Christ to come into his life. With tears in my eyes, we stood up to leave. It was just brother Tilley, my son and I. As we reached the back doors of the church, we opened them to find that we were not alone. There under a clear, blue Carolina sky stood Doyle Lawson and his entire band.  The entire entourage was still standing in a row on the steps of the church, they had paused from their busy schedule, waiting to celebrate my son’s decision.

The tears ran down my cheeks as I watched entertainers turned Christians welcome another one into their fold.

It is a day I will never forget.

The seed had been planted, but another reaped the harvest, but we rejoiced together.

God has a purpose in everything we do. What will become of the young man at the cell phone store? I may never know, but it really doesn’t matter; God knows.

One day, when we reach that far distant shore, there will be a welcoming into the fold. We’ll find the angels of the Lord standing in a row, pausing for each of us, ushering us into those heavenly gates. On that day, the answers to the questions we never knew will become obvious.

What a day it will be.

Thanks be to God.

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by | March 24, 2018 · 9:45 pm

Winter of our Content

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
And whose hope is the Lord.
8 For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters,
Which spreads out its roots by the river,
And will not fear[b] when heat comes;
But its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought,
Nor will cease from yielding fruit.” – Jeremiah 17:7-9

Sitting on the bank of the river, below me swirls the cold waters of winter. The fluid motion spins by, never stopping, never ceasing its continual movement. Like time passing, there but for a moment then gone. Around where I sit there is only the stark, gray reminder of winter. Life has not yet returned to the branches of yonder bough; death in slumber.

It has been a long week.

My mind ponders as the countless days pass, from one seeming earthly struggle to the next, one never ceasing, nor stopping to give pause. All around me, others seem to be facing similar earthly challenges and trials; cancer, sickness, and stress. Like the tributary before me, they come in waves, sometimes flooding all that we are. We become overwhelmed with what we must do in order to survive from day to day until there is nothing left of who we are. All that was the light seems all but extinguished. Too often, in our weakness, we feel we must carry it all on our own. It is in these moments, we as Christians must remind ourselves and those around us, we are not alone. As the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” Yes, we are not alone, if only we will allow the Holy Spirit to walk with us.

As these thoughts flow through my head, there passes within the never-ending stream, a dark figure; a solitary oak leaf. It tumbles helplessly along. Its greenery long since faded into the bitter winds of autumn. Now, caught in the chaotic turbulence, it is helpless to choose its path; rather, the substance of which it is now part controls its destiny.

Sometimes, in my moments of weakness, I feel like the leaf.

There was a time when it too was part of the greenness of life; that of the tree that stood beside the stream. There, the life was good. It had no worries, but the waters below beckoned. Knowing not what it missed, the solitary leaf yearned for the mystery of what flowed beneath. On the tree, the leaf had sustenance from the roots that supped the life-giving force. There was no fear in the time of draught, no fear of the world around it. But as we often find in our youth, we are not content with the sanctuary in which we were raised. Like a taboo darkness, the leaf wanted to be free of this safety of which it was reared. When the strong storm winds blew, the leaf wished for its release so that it might be free. One night, when the flashes of lightning thrashed around the sturdy tree, the leaf was finally granted the sole desire; it was set free.

Torn from what seemed like its bondage, it was loosed into the world.

From whence it came it departed and was never to return. Soon the leaf too late realized that without the nourishment of the father tree, there was no hope, no life eternal. Lost, the foliage joined the others who also were blown as the gusts of unseen forces tossed them to and fro. His greenery soon turned to a golden hue, brilliant as the sun; the last rays of hope escaping. In his mistaken glory, he pranced about joyously celebrating the new life of earthly gratification. However, after a couple days, brown stains began to appear on his body. Before he knew it, the leaf’s brown spots connected. To his horror, his flesh had turned to the color of the soil. The countless days of life abundant, those living in the home that taught the precepts of faith now were gone, forgotten as the lost ones ran from all that they had known seeking the fleshly desires of the earth. For it is written, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” The leaf too late found, like those around him, had been mistaken and given up on what that had been promised. Lost in their sin, they now gave up and scattered neither knowing whence they were going, nor whence they came. In their desire to be of the earth, they had unknowingly succumbed to the desires of their flesh. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; Who can know it?” Many of the leaf’s friends, those that had joined in his revelries had now succumbed to the earth, lying in repose as their bodies began to decay, becoming one with the earth from which they came; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Yet, the lone leaf had not forgotten the bidding, that it had wished so long ago.

Haplessly, the leaf was finally blown one morning into the waters below the tree from which it once called home. At first, the leaf fought to remain afloat, fearing to sink below the surface. But eventually, its dried skin became full of the cold wetness and began to sink. As he floated down, the world above began to fade, and he could feel his life beginning to pass. As that former life began to ebb, the water began to swirl him around. The light of the sun sparkled upon the waters, casting colors of every hue about him as the current pushed him on. Suddenly, he was no longer alone, but part of a greater body of being than ever before. There was a renewed sense of hope, a life-force from within, the fluidness of the spirit, began to flow. As the leaf became one with the water, he was made anew. Together, the leaf and the crystal waters were made one. His Baptism had been complete, and now, he was one with the Father. As he floated along, he no longer cared to whence he may go, only that he may do the will of the Father who hath sent him. For once, the leaf had found the glory for which he had so long ago sought but could not know; truly to be one with the Father.

And so there he was, passing before me as I sat that evening, as the sun slowly sat beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaf eventually tumbled and tossed along in the current until it faded from my view into the shadowed bend of the yon waters.

Somewhere in the distance a night bird called.

Soon spring would come, but for now, the winter of our content has arrived.

Thanks be to God.

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by | April 20, 2015 · 9:02 am

Flipping Your Town…in the name of Jesus!

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A gray, overcast, soggy morning greets us today; a writer’s comforting quilt of reflection washes over me.

Yesterday as I spoke to the congregation at Cumnock UMC, there was a sense of urgency to what I was saying, something that led me to want to push my fellow Christians farther than they’ve ever gone before, to boldly go forth and espouse the Word of God. Part of me knew, that as soon as many left that front door, stepping into the world beyond, that message would fade and when confronted with the “real” world, interactions with others would face the everyday scrutiny of social adaptation we all face, myself included. However, there were many reflections as I drove to Greensboro to take Mary out for dinner in order to celebrate her 14th birthday (yes, that is another blog, about where the time goes and how blessed we are by this beautiful, smart young woman we are watching grow before our eyes.).

Today when I checked the latest happenings with the world around us via the social media devices, I found a refreshing and boldly innovative initiative being undertaken by a church in Valdese, NC.; The River of Life. I saw where they have started a ministry to the local community called, “Flipping Valdese” #flippingValdese . It made me think back to the part of my sermon yesterday where I tried to convey how hard it is to go out into the world that we are most familiar and witness to others. I believe it is much easier to go to another country and spread much needed food and clothing to less fortunate populations and then witness to them, nearly a captive audience. But try to go out into a world that has their basic needs met, who choose to turn from the Word for one reason or another, and you will find the true test of your faith. Now, I am not condemning the work done by our many missionary teams and persons, these are all valuable and desperately needed, but few dare to go where the person we speak to is of our own kind, like minded in some aspects, to those who have all they need and turn from the Word of God because of their own worldly desires. For Jesus came into the world, and the world was made through him, but the world did not know Him.

We as Christians face many challenges in a world that grows closer to the darkness each day. To arm ourselves with the Word and to go out into the world is a bold move that many will shrink from the challenge. It takes someone with deep devotional fortitude to go out and witness to those who can just as easily tell you where to go, literally and figuratively. It is not going to get any easier with each day we are being invaded by those that want to take away our religious freedoms, our faith and our Lord. I applaud the River of Life Church and their pastoral staff led by Pastor Allen King for doing the unthinkable, the most avoidable and the most needed, witnessing to our fellow brethren.

Join with me as we lift their ministry up in prayer and think about starting your own “Flipping _____” where you fill in the blank with your town, city or community. We cannot sit back and wait. Darkness seeks to destroy us all and we can only sit back on our laurels so long before it’s too late.

Flip your community and see what miracles the Lord can do for you.

Please keep our friends, family and community in prayer as many are needing help, healing and condolences for loss.

Have a blessed week.

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by | August 8, 2014 · 6:16 am

The Light before the Dawn…

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My mind was racing well before the dawn.

Unable to sleep, I arose and began the day well in advance of the culmination of months planning and practicing for the Festival of Faith. The vision to bring the story of hope, salvation and redemption to the world will not be without uncertainty as the threat of inclement weather looms large. Yet, it would not be without adversity that we struggle to keep the story alive.

Somewhere in another country far away, once again Christians struggle to survive; surrounded by Muslim extremists, their fate dependent upon faith and prayer. Today I read in the paper that our country has sent relief in the form of food and water, air dropped to the mountain top where they hold out. Their adversaries wait for them to come down to seek food and water, only to take their lives at every opportunity. I’m sure their prayers were answered when those resources fell from the sky; manna from heaven as in the day of the Israelites and their time in the desert.

Today, we move the program to a new location, with a new format but return with the same story, one told for generations of the people that kept the faith alive, the truth, the Word; the Waldensians. Our numbers are small, we face many obstacles to bring our message, yet we do not face the tests of our brethren in that far away land; the face of death. Here, we merely struggle with the ignorance and greed of others that turn away from what made their country and cities great, the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. Tonight, I will lead children of the Lord on a journey that began a year ago, in a church recreated to the image of one back in the Cottien Alps, a place where death has visited one too many times; the Ciabas on the Trail of Faith. Although last year our audience was small, the response was too great to let the program die there within the walls of the wonderful church. Like the world in which we live, we too often find comfort within the walls of our house of worship; we must go beyond, out to the masses that need to hear our voices. As fishers of men, we must go where we can find the fish.

So, in less than 12 hours, we will have finished the story, the performance will have been completed.

Will we bring hope, joy and inspiration to others; only the Lord knows, only He knows.

“Wake up Sleeper, rise from the dead and let the light of the Lord shine on you.” – Eph. 5:14

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by | August 15, 2013 · 8:09 am

Strength in Knowing…

 

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper, And every tongue which rises against you in judgment You shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, And their righteousness is from Me,’ Says the Lord.”

– Isaiah 54:17

 

Discovery of ancestral wonders are one thing, but to find that these same wonders where miracles of faith often cause me to take pause and reflect upon what is important in life; thus was the result of my recent journey to Valdese this past weekend. When we decide to led God take control of our lives and allow Him to lead us, the possibilities are often mind blowing and life altering. No matter how many times I hear the stories of sacrifice and torture of those ancient Christians, I cannot help to feel somewhat guilty for not having to struggle to practice my faith, as they did. But as time goes on, I feel led to take up the spiritual arms because whether we realize it or not, our faith is once again under attack.

Last year when attending the festival for the first time, I met and heard stories from people I had never met before; making lots of new friends and acquaintances along the way. This year was much the same, finding more connections and learning new details about our ancient past. My first such encounter was meeting the family of David and torrepellice1Kathleen Pra. They had attended our Festival of Faith after having learned earlier in the day that they too were from the Waldensian valleys of the Cottien Alps. David shared with me how he and his family, had found their way into the ministry, not knowing of their ancestral background. Like my experience last year, they were swimming in the flood of information that hits you when you realize who and where you came from.

The very next day at the “Authentic Waldensian” meal hosted by the Waldensian Presbyterian church, amazingly enough we met again, both us finding a very unique individual in attendance as well, Lucas Pinole. Lucas was here as an exchange student from the College in Torre Pellice, Italy. He was in Valdese to learn more about Valdese Waldensians. Fortunately for the Pras and I, we would soon learn more about ourselves than we had imagined.

As we walked into the vast fellowship hall, with people filling every possible seat at the dining tables, David saw us enter and began motioning for us to join them. He introduced us to Lucas, and explained who he was and where he torrepellice2was from. Mostly all I heard was, “He is from the valleys.” Lucas was still having a conversation with an elderly gentleman as we took our seats, but with the noise of all the voices in the hall combining I could not tell what they were saying. When I finally was able to understand them, they had actually began speaking in English. What I didn’t realize was that they had been talking in the ancient tongue of the valleys, the “Potswa”. Lucas explained to the elderly gentleman the differences between the “Local Potswa” versus the “Germanic Potswa”, with the local flavor being more indigenous to those valleys. The elderly man spoke the local flavor, meaning he had not had the chance to speak to anyone in this native tongue in quite some time and was obviously moved by his brief experience; this was a day of exultations of the moment for many. I wanted to hear more, but the man and the conversation moved on, as did time. I was instantly enthralled by this young man and his obvious linguistic abilities. By the end of the weekend I would realize he was as much a Waldensian as any, like one of the originals, living breathing the Word in his everyday life.

After the introductions, we were seated and continued the informational ride of a lifetime. Lucas told me how he had been reading my book and that he was really enjoying it. He then went on to tell me that I could learn about the “Tron” family even further by contacting the Waldensian Heritage Museum in Torre Pellice. He said that nowadays, there are many Trons, and that finding our ancestral roots would be quite easy once we got to the Museum’s archives. We continued talking about the valleys and how excited we were to meet someone from that region. We then turned back to the linguistics, with Lucas recalling what he had discussed with the elderly gentleman whom I had overheard when first sitting down. He then told David that his last name “Pra” meant “valley of” in Potswa.

Curious, I asked, “Well, if Pra means something does my name mean anything?”

Lucas replied, “Well, in fact, yes it does.”

I grabbed the edge of the table and jokingly said, “Ok, let me brace for this.”

All our lives as children we had grown up wondering what our name might mean in German, since that is where we thought we had immigrated from. One of my cousins teased that Tron sounded like “throne” and that instead of a royal throne; we were more likely from the bathroom throne. We never found our answer in the German-English dictionary. Even after finding Walldorf and the Heimat museum, there was no discussion like this; what our name meant. So here I sat, after a lifetime of not knowing there was even a meaning to our family name, yet with the answer about to roll of the lips of the young man who was just hours away from having left those ancient valleys from which we once had come,  sitting next to me.

I closed my eyes and said, “Ok, go ahead I’m ready. Let’s hear it.”

Lucas respectfully laughed, as did the others at the table, and he continued in a sober tone, “We’ll actually the name “Tron” has a very respectable meaning in Potswa. For you see,” he paused to regain the seriousness of the moment, “It was the name they often gave the soldiers, the warriors who fought to preserve the Word of the Lord, for the name literally means, ‘Man of strength’”

I let out a sigh, thinking, “Was he serious?”

“Really?” I said out loud in disbelief.

“Yes, seriously,” Lucas responded.

David responded, “Do you want to trade?”

The table erupted in laughter once more.

I shook my head no, still laughing and replied to David, “Hey, just think, the Tron are buried in your Pra.”

We all laughed even more.

Looking back now, that was my first sentence using Potswa I had ever spoken; unbeknownst to me. What was even more grounding was that the next day, when I attended the church service at the same church the meal was served in, the preacher gave a sermon on the persecution of the Waldensians. At one point, 12,000 men, women and children had been imprisoned. During that time, 9,000 of them died, as many as in all four previous centuries of struggle. Somehow, through all of that our families had survived for us to be here today to carry on the legacy.

To know that we are here because of the strength of those gone on before leads me to want to do more for the purposes for which they struggle. When I hear people discounting Christianity for sake of other religions, I hear the anguished cries of my ancestors echo off those monolithic peaks they called home. When I see Christians converting to other religions for sake of being perceived as hip or cool, another breath from that wind of antiquity is extinguished. With each footstep we allow to trod on our faith, we allow one more reason for the past to be lost. We must take of the sword of righteousness once again, standing up for who and what we are and stop giving into complacency.

We would not be here today and would not be who we are if it were not for those men and women who fought, sacrificing their very lives for what they believed and for the Word of God.

They held themselves accountable to no one but the Father above; shouldn’t we?

The reflections of this past weekend take me to a point in life where I now realize from whence I came. It is up to me to follow where He might have me go, for in his path I will follow. We must not be afraid to speak because in our silence other voices will fill the void; voices who do not share our beliefs, our faith.

Step back in time with me once more and get back to the origins of who and what we are, stop kidding yourselves with the decorations of the contemporary movement and get right with God.

You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.

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