A Christmas Story – Dr. Jon R. Roebuck, Executive Director

Joyce found herself alone at Christmas for the first time in her entire life of 82 years.  There was a deep sadness that had settled in all around her like she had never experienced before.  Two defining events had taken place in the past 9 months that profoundly changed her life.  The first was the death of beloved husband Tom.  Tom died in the early days of the Spring after a very long and debilitating illness.  He actually had been in the process of dying for over two years.  During the previous fall, he had become bedridden.  By late November his words had ceased and all meaningful conversation was gone.  But still Joyce talked to him in the hope that he could hear and understand and feel her love.  She often sang the songs that he loved.  She bathed his body, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, and literally kept him alive with the tenderness of her compassion and the grit of her resolve not to let him slip away.  But despite her best efforts, the illness prevailed and on an unseasonably warm March morning, she watched as the funeral folks lowered him into the red clay soil of South Georgia.  Along with his body, she buried a very real part of her own life.  They had been married for over 57 years.  Unable to have children, they found companionship and joy in each other’s lives until the day he drew his last breath.

Her best friend Margaret had been her rock during the worst of her grief.  Margaret had been a neighbor and friend for over 20 years.  She even insisted on staying with Joyce for the first few nights after Tom had died.  She was that kind of friend.  She did her best to make sure the darkness of grief did not win out over her friend.  She helped Joyce regain her footing after Tom’s death.  She called every day and visited every week.  The two of them even made a summer trip to the hills of Tennessee.  Margaret literally saved her life.  But then it happened.  Margaret’s daughter, Tammy, stood at her door one October morning, clothes and hair soaked by a driving rain.  Mixed in with the rain running down her face were the tears that streamed from her eyes.  All Joyce could muster were the words, “No… please tell me Margaret is okay…”  When Tammy told her the news, Joyce collapsed in her arms.  Apparently, Margaret had a massive heart attack in the middle of the night and was gone in an instant.  Tammy knew something was wrong when she couldn’t get her mom on the phone that morning.  She found her in her bed.  There were no signs of struggle or pain.

Suddenly Joyce was stripped of the two people she loved most.  The pain was unbearable some days.  She cried a lot.  She walked aimlessly through the house.  Some days she would forget to even eat.  Other friends called and came by from time to time.  Folks from the church would check in and Tammy tried to stop by at least once a week.  Joyce slowly began to show signs of emerging life.  Slowly, she looked better.  She seemed to care about herself a little more.  She starting paying attention to her diet.  She kept the routines of her life alive… the simple but necessary routines.  She shopped for groceries.  She attended church.  She ran errands with some friends from her book club.  She kept her doctor’s appointments.  But still the sadness and loneliness were deep and dark.  She felt very alone and living on the fringe, as though life was passing by all around her but she was not included.

The thought of being alone at Christmas was more than she could bear.  The story of hope and joy brought her only sadness and despair.  All she could think about were the memories of the way things used to be.  She couldn’t muster the strength, energy, or care to decorate the house.  No one was coming anyway.  She didn’t set the Christmas table like she had done for the past 57 years.  She didn’t even bother to set out the small tabletop tree on the table in front of the bay window.  She didn’t even bother with Christmas cards… it was all just too sad.  She watched a few of those “feel good” TV movies but even that depressed her.  They all ended on a happy note… she knew her story wouldn’t.  Nothing seemed right, or happy, or joyful.  The short days of December only exaggerated the darkness of her grief.

She turned out the lights and turned off the TV around 10 o’clock on Christmas Eve.  She slipped into her gown and crawled into bed wondering if she could force herself to even think about sleeping.  She hadn’t been in bed for very long when she heard an unfamiliar sound.  At first she couldn’t figure out where the sound originated.  It was coming from somewhere in the back of the house.  It stopped.  Then it started again.  It was like the sound of something brushing against the house.  She decided that it must the wind blowing the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard against the siding of the house.  Her mind got to wondering about how difficult it would be to keep up the house and how much it would cost just to trim the tree.  It was the kind of thing Tom took care of.  After a while the strange noise stopped and she was just about to drift off to sleep when she heard it again. The sound was too constant to be branches against the house.  It sounded more like an animal scratching at her back door.  Her mind raced in a dozen different directions.  Maybe it was a raccoon, or a squirrel, or God forbid, maybe an old possum was trying to escape the cold of the winter night.  She quietly slipped out of bed, stepped into her house shoes and shuffled her way through the house with a flashlight in one hand and her husband’s old cane in the other.  She had no idea what she would do if she happened upon some “wild beast,” but the light and the cane seemed like logical things to take along.

The noise was definitely coming from the back door.  She finally peered through the peep-hole but could see nothing.  She glanced through a small window but could still see nothing at the door.  Whatever it was, it had to be fairly small, but determined.  The noise continued for at least 10 more minutes.  It would stop momentarily, as if the animal was catching its breath, and then continue again.  “I wish it would go away,” she said to herself.  She knew that she couldn’t possibly go back to bed until the scratching on the door stopped.

It was too late to call a neighbor or bother Tammy about it.  She finally decided that it was her problem to solve.  Mustering all the courage she could collect and tightly gripping the cane in her hand, she cracked open the back door to solve the mystery of her persistent intruder.  When she turned on the porch light, she finally caught a glimpse of the nighttime noise maker.  It was a small dog, shivering in the cold… at least she thought it was dog.  He was grey with long, wiry hair… maybe about 10-12 pounds.  His hair was matted and caked with mud and grass.  His feet and legs were wet as though he had been walking through some tall weeds.  He looked way too skinny and had no collar.  His whole body shook with the cold.  She said to the dog, “Shoo!  Go away now!  Go back home!” and the she closed the door in his face.  But he didn’t shoo, or go away, or go back home.  He started scratching again but this time added a very faint whimper.  After about 5 minutes she opened the door again and repeated her admonitions for his departure.  Again, she closed the door and again the scratching began.

She finally thought to herself, maybe if I give him something to eat, he’ll be satisfied and be on his way.  She scrounged around her kitchen trying to think what a dog might want to eat.  She had a couple of leftover Sister Shubert sweet rolls and a piece a bacon.  She tossed it out the back door and within seconds the small dog started gobbling it down.  He looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week!  Before she could close and lock the door, the food was gone.  And within a moment the scratching started again.  She started talking to the dog through the closed door, as if the dog could hear her and understand her.  “Now you need to go away.  It’s time for you to go home.  I’m sure your owner is looking for you.”

Joyce turned on the TV to distract herself and to drown out the noise of the once-again-whimpering dog.  A local weatherman was giving a “Santa watch” report.  He went on to say that the lows would be in the upper 20’s overnight and that houseplants and pets needed to be inside.  She snapped off the TV set trying to act like she hadn’t heard what he said about bringing in pets for the night.  But it was too late.  The words kept running around in her mind.  She knew herself well enough to know that she was going to cave in and let the dog come inside for just the night.  Of course, what she didn’t know was that she was about to let the dog into her heart, and not just for one evening.

She went down to the basement and brought up a cardboard box.  It was sturdy and the sides were tall.  She took an old towel and lined the bottom of the box.  “That ought to do it for just one night,” she said to herself.  She wondered how she was going to get the dog into the box.  She wasn’t about to pick up the filthy animal.  She decided that she would lay the box on its side with the opening toward the door.  When the dog stepped into the box she would turn it upright and he would be trapped inside.   At least he would be warm and dry.  Her plan worked to perfection.  The little dog stepped into the box and when she righted the box he seemed to settle in around the old towel.  He looked up at her with big brown eyes and slightly turned his head.  She walked to the kitchen to get a bowl with some water.  He stood on his hind legs with his paws and face peering over the edge of the box, watching every move she made.  As she walked back to the box, his tail was wagging wildly.  He lapped up the water in about 2 minutes, never taking a moment to stop or catch his breath.

As he started to settle in, she had the urge to reach down and pet the poor puppy, but then she thought about how dirty and grimy he was.  She decided that it was best not to touch him at all.  She turned down all the lights except for the lamp on the end table near the couch.  Once she was sure that he was fast asleep, she tiptoed back to bed.  She looked at the old, wind-up clock on her nightstand.  It was well past 1 a.m.  A bit more exhausted than her earlier attempt at falling asleep, she relaxed and quickly drifted off to sleep.  Her slumber would not last for long.  She was awakened by a loud thump and then the pitter-patter of small dog paws on the linoleum.  Before she could pull the covers off her legs to investigate, the small dog had raced down the hall, and bounded onto her bed and in a flash, was standing on her chest licking her face!  She tried to push him away but he was too quick.  Within moments her face was wet with dog kisses and her bed was filthy with dog dirt.  Her earlier resolve to not touch the dog quickly dissipated.  She grabbed him with both hands and set him not-so-gently on the floor.  He just looked at her, tail wagging, bright eyed and ready to play.

She decided to close him up in the bathroom.  She pushed him inside, turned on the light, and quickly closed the door.  It seemed to work… but within moments, the scratching started all over again.  The little grey dog was at it again, wanting nothing more than to be wherever she was.  She opened the door to fuss at him, but those big brown eyes and wagging tail quickly diffused her anger.  She walked over to the tub and started running the water.  She said to the dog, “If you are going to be a quest in my house, at least you are going to be a clean guest.”  She plopped the small dog into the warm water.  She lathered him up with a little vanilla bean body wash that was sitting on the edge of the tub.  Soon the clean water turned into the color of ice tea.  She rinsed him and repeated the whole process.  She finally toweled him off and set him in the middle of the bathroom floor.  He shook from head to toe in that way that only a dog can shake.  She took her hairdryer and blew him dry.  He seemed to enjoy the warm air and never squirmed at all.  “You’re not a bad looking little pup,” she remarked.  In fact, he was downright cute.

She looked at her gown and had to laugh.  It was as though all the dirt from the dog had been transferred to her clothing.  She quickly changed and loaded the washing machine with dirty towels, sheets, and her gown.  The little hand on the clock had dipped well below 3 and the big hand was swinging past 7.  “What a way to spend Christmas Eve,” she thought to herself.  Before the night ended, she found herself asleep on the couch in the den under a homemade quilt, with a very clean and happy grey dog sleeping at her feet.

Christmas morning surprised Joyce.  The sun was up before she awakened.  She slept a little longer than she had slept in weeks.  She discovered that not only had the sun appeared, bright and cheery, but something about her countenance had lifted a little as well.  Somehow she didn’t feel quite as down, or as lonely, or as defeated as she had before.  She looked down at the small dog still resting at her feet.  She wondered how something so small and seemingly insignificant could change her perspective in a single night.  Noticing that she was awake, the small dog stirred, stretched a little, and crawled into her lap.  It was apparent that he needed her and she needed him.  “Want something to eat?” she asked.  The tail started wagging again

She tried, although not too hard, to find the real owner, which she never did.  She named him Miracle, because of the way the small dog rescued her life.  The two of them became the best of companions and looked after each other for years.

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            Who would have ever thought that a small, tiny, little creature which arrived unexpectedly in the middle of the night could change everything?  Who would have ever thought that someone’s darkness, despair, and gloom could be transformed into light, hope, and joy?  Who would have ever thought one night could make a world of difference?  Who would have ever thought that salvation would come through one small miracle.  “For behold I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all the people, for unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign unto you, you will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger.”  Luke 2:10-12  One small, tiny, little creature which arrived unexpectedly in the middle of the night changed everything.

 

Merry Christmas

2016

Dr. Jon R. Roebuck, Executive Director

I realize that my memories of Christmas are not your memories of Christmas.  Each of us experienced the season in special and unique ways as children.  I grew up in Rome, GA as the son of a Baptist Minister.  So, many of my memories swirl around traditions in my household and in my home church.  As I said, they are MY memories.  I spent a little time recently bringing some of those memories to mind.  It has helped me to regain a joyful perspective on the season.  Sometimes it’s good to reflect and remember.

The following is a list of some of those fond memories.  They may or may not resonate with you in any way.  Maybe something on my list will jog your memory a little.  I really encourage you to take a quiet moment in the midst of this hectic and way over-crowded season to recall a few of those special days you spent in the innocence of childhood, believing that Christmas was the best day of the year.

One of the traditions in our house revolved around an annual pilgrimage to Rich’s in downtown Atlanta.  Rich’s was THE department store in those days, rising 7 or 8 stories above the crisscrossing streets of Atlanta.  A huge tree was always paced on the top of the building.  Thousands would gather each year for the lighting of the tree.  It was a big deal.  Joining the tree on the top of the building was a monorail kid’s ride known as the Pink Pig.  For years, it circled its way around the rooftop, giving kids an up-close look at the big tree and other dazzling lights and displays.  I still remember getting a sticker on my dark blue windbreaker which proudly proclaimed that I had ridden the Pink Pig.  One of the floors in the department store was dedicated to nothing but toys.  Just walking through the maze of all those toys was a special time.

One of the local churches always presented a “live” nativity scene.  Every evening during the holiday season, families could drive by in their cars and pause for a moment to take in the scene.  The characters were always dressed in great costumes.  There were live animals as well… donkeys and sheep.  It was a little much to think that a real camel would appear and so a huge stuffed camel was propped up against the backdrop of the scene.  It was nothing short of magical.  We probably drove past at least a dozen times each year.

Long before the days of artificial, pre-lit trees, the annual trip to buy a tree was part of the tradition.  There were lots all over town.  It seems that most years we bought a tree at the YMCA lot, although at times, it seems like we got a tree at the local Piggly Wiggly.  I remember how we tied it to the roof of the brown and white Chevrolet station wagon and drove it home.  Dad would always saw off the end and screw it into the tree stand.  (It was always my job throughout the season to scoot underneath the tree and keep it watered.)  Remember those big old bulbs we used to have?  Multi-colored lights that got really hot.  Dad always lamented the task of getting the lights on the tree.  Some years we went with a spruce tree… sometimes a scotch pine.  We carefully hung the ornaments and placed the foil ice cycles on the tree.  Sometimes late at night, I would crawl under the tree and stare up at the lights.  When my brother and I got a little older, one of our Christmas traditions was gathering up all of the old discarded trees up and down the street.  We would pile them together on the curb in front of the house and light a huge bonfire.

Our local paper, The Rome New Tribune, had a tradition of placing a small cartoon on the front page to count down the days till Christmas.  Every night I would grab the paper and look for the cartoon and think, “Christmas will never get here!”

I remember ribbon candy in the dish in the living room and the huge peppermint log that Doc Elliot gave us.  We would take an icepick and chip away a piece throughout the holiday.  I remember how Mr. Donahue always brought my mother a Whitman’s Sampler and my dad a $100 bill.  I remember the Christmas parade and the decorations that adorned Broad Street.  I remember school plays and the Christmas cards that piled into our home each year.

I also think about the Christmas Eve candle-lighting service at FBC, Rome.  Every year, about 6 p.m. the service would begin and the sanctuary would fill to capacity.  There was Christmas music, solos, and the sacred lighting of the Christ candle on the Advent Wreath.  At the end of the service, weather permitting, we would stream out onto the front sidewalk and sing silent night while holding our little white candles.

I guess what I remember most of all was the emotion of the season.  I always felt loved beyond measure, blessed beyond description, and joyful beyond comprehension.

May your Christmas be filled with wonderful memories, loving friends & family, and the joy of the King’s birth.

Dr. Jon Roebuck, Executive Director

 

Yesterday a devastating wildfire ravaged the town of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  People lost their homes, cars, and businesses.  Having once served as pastor of the First Baptist Church of Gatlinburg, those people, unknown to most of you, are very real to me and my family.  We lived there.  We spent 5 special years there.  Our kids went to school there.  It was our home and now bits and pieces are forever gone.  We are extremely grateful that as far as we know, all of the people we love in that place are safe.  We are terribly saddened however that some of the places we loved are now gone.  We have spoken to a number of our friends throughout the day.  Some have lost everything but the clothes on their backs.  But they haven’t lost their resiliency and the small town of hard working and industrious folk will rise again.  I am certain of it.  But today they grieve and weep and we join with them in the sadness of loss.

Perhaps my favorite place to eat on the planet was a local spot in Gatlinburg named, The Mountain Lodge.  Last night the fire reached the restaurant and in moments it was gone.  Ron and Jennifer Smith have run the place for decades.  They are the best of people.  Strong in their faith and strong in their commitment as members of the community, their first thoughts were not of the loss of their family business, but of their employees who are suddenly without work.  Ron and Jennifer are friends of ours and were great supporters of the church when I pastored there.  Ron and his brother Don prepared the Wednesday night meals… best food in town.  Jennifer was a surrogate mom to every kid in the youth group.  She and my wife, Linda, laughed and cried their way through youth camps and mission trips as counselors.  Ron and Jennifer are safe and we are grateful.  Yet we are heartbroken.

The Mountain Lodge was more than a great place to eat… it was THE place to eat.  Most of the population of the town ate there every week, if not every day.  It was the heart of the community.  Yes, the food was great, but the sense of belonging was even greater.  In that place you were known, accepted, and wanted.  Even after all of these years have passed, whenever we stepped into The Lodge, people called us by name, hugged our necks, and Jennifer always stopped what she was doing to come sit at the table and play catch-up.  Occasionally, I would step back in the kitchen to speak to Ron.  That’s where he always was.  He has to be the hardest working man I have ever known.  We stopped one day to do a little math… we figured that he had served over 3 million plates of food out of that kitchen through the years.  3 million.  Ron and Jennifer served food, made friends, and connected the community together through good times and bad all in that small restaurant.  If you never had their cream of chicken soup, or the cinnamon rolls, or the hamburger always served upside down, you have missed something special.

It’s been a tough few days in Gatlinburg.  It’s going to be a long, hard road out.  I would humbly ask for you to remember that community.  Support them in ways that you can.  And pray faithfully for every family and the losses they have sustained.

Dr. Jon R. Roebuck, Executive Director

What’s wrong with Martha?  I mean, there she is, welcoming Jesus into her home but when the moment comes to sip a little “Living Water” she’s too busy in the kitchen to even notice.  You remember the story well.  According to Luke 10:38-42, Jesus has come to the home of Mary and Martha.  Mary sits at His feet, listening to every word that flows from His mouth.  Martha is in the kitchen, distracted with all her preparations.  She must have been from the South… she cares deeply about hospitality, decorum, and good food.  She and Paula Dean would have been best friends.  She spends the day fussing over the meal while her sister spends the day in the company of Jesus.  Jesus even tells Martha when she comes to complain about Mary’s behavior that Mary has spent the day more wisely.

I’ve read that story a thousand times but have refused to see myself reflected in its image.  Until now.  I’m fearful that I am playing the part of Martha this thanksgiving, because that’s how I usually spend the holiday.  Thanksgiving at our house is a big deal.  Because our home is more centrally located than my wife’s siblings’ houses, we host the family in our home for a few days each year.  It used to be easier when the kids were little and you could sleep all seven on a blanket on the floor.  But now the kids are grown and some are married and some even have kids of their own.  We have to plan through work schedules, nap times, and airline fights just to attempt a thanksgiving meal for all 19 of us.  Ages will range from 2 weeks old to 90 years.  I even built a set of corn hole games for the weekend painted with Alabama and Auburn logos, after all it is Iron Bowl week.  It gets a little crazy… especially when you are hosting the event.  Many of you have experienced some of the same dynamics.

I have discovered through the years, that if I am not careful, I will spend more time fussing over the meal than I will in spending the day in the company of my family.  I worry about having enough ice, a well-cooked turkey, a clean house, and a raked yard.  I want everything to run smoothly and be ready for company.  (The last two years we have even added the stress of having the house decorated for Christmas before the Thanksgiving crowd arrives.)  I have to rethink the question of purpose.  Why do we do what we do at Thanksgiving?  Is it really all about the food we consume, the house we clean, and the paper goods we buy… or is it about the company that we keep?

This year I’m going to attempt to worry less about the details and focus more on my family.  I have no doubt we will have plenty to eat.  I’m not worried about having enough beds for everyone to sleep.  I’m not even going to stress if the dishes pile up in the sink.  Maybe I will have the time to even reflect on the things for which I am most grateful.  Surely that’s a better way to spend the season.  It’s time to get out of the kitchen Martha… the best things are happening in the next room.

Dr. Jon Roebuck, Executive Director

I’m one of those people who believe that our life stories are always being written by God into a much greater narrative.  In other words, some moments that we hardly think twice about, are a part of God’s plan for something greater that He is doing.  I often tell people that God is weaving the tread of our life story into a much larger tapestry designed to change hearts and lives.  And sometimes, we are privileged to catch a glimpse of God at work.  There is great joy in knowing that our lives are being used by God and connected in some exciting ways.  I had one of those serendipitous moments last week…

In the midst of the election turmoil that filled the nation with angst and uncertainty, my family was busy celebrating one of the great days that we will long remember.  Our son and daughter-in-law welcomed their 2^nd daughter into the world.  Her name is Lydia and she is healthy and strong and we are blessed beyond measure.  She is our third granddaughter.  But here’s where the story of “paying it forward” got woven into the story.  While in the hospital, my daughter-in-law picked up the phone to order her meal from food services.  The kind lady on the other end of the conversation took her order and asked for her name and room number.  When she said her last name was Roebuck, the lady hesitated for a moment and asked, “Are you related to Pastor Roebuck?”  (As most of you know, I pastored Woodmont Baptist Church here in Nashville for the past 17 years.) She said, “Yes. He’s my father-in-law.”  The lady on the phone then replied, “He built my house about 2 years ago and participated in the dedication service.”  Her home is located in an area of town where Habitat for Humanity has built a number of sturdy, affordable homes.  I had been a part of the Habitat team that built her home.  My daughter-in-law then replied, “I was also a part of that team.  I too helped to build your home.”  It was a nice moment when the connection between builder and owner was made.  (I’m pretty sure my daughter-in-law got really good service that morning!)

Who knew?  Who knew that something we had done a couple years previous would be remembered on the day our granddaughter was born? Who knew that the one serving the meal would be the same one who 2 years earlier had been served herself by my daughter-in-law’s Habitat involvement?  Simply stated… God knew.  No… it was not some great life-changing, destiny altering moment, but it was interesting the see the connecting points.  What some would suggest was just a wild coincidence, is seen by others as the intentional working of God.  It happens all the time in the presence of those who have the eyes of faith with which to see. God can be seen in the everyday experiences of life, carefully arranging people, place, and moment.

I had an old ethics professor in Seminary who used to say, “You have to be willing to plant a few trees in whose shade you will never rest.”  I think he’s right.  We are called to do good deeds and compassionate acts, not for the glory we will receive or the pats on the back we might feel… we are called to do Kingdom things because they are the right things to do.  We don’t serve the world for the sake of self-adulation.  We serve the world because our faith compels us to do so.  And when those moments do occur… when we see how our hands become the hands of God, we should pause to reflect for a moment, grateful that we have been honored to be used of God.

Dr. Jon Roebuck, Executive Director

Once again we have the important and rare privilege that our democracy affords us of going to the polls this week and casting our vote.  Thank God that we can.  And thank God that its nearly over.  For almost two years America has been caught up in the rhetoric of partisan politics.  We have heard the speeches, watched the debates, listened to the platforms, and formed our opinions.  It has been a long, angry, divisive battle.  The question becomes where to go from here…

What will happen when the dust clears later this week?  What happens when the votes are counted and a winner is proclaimed?  Will we stand and celebrate the electoral process and marvel that as Americans we have once again celebrated the peaceful transference of power?  Will we shake hands with our political enemies and seek to craft a more perfect union?  Maybe… maybe not.

Allow me to suggest some steps to take on the morning of November 9^th as the dust starts to clear.

1. Put your Christian convictions into practice. In other words, act Christ-like.  Think before you speak.  Extend compassion in your attitudes.  Offer grace.  Jesus offered the radical idea of loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us… that includes those on the other side of the political aisle.  Refuse to the temptation to write off a friendship because of politics.  Christ is not honored by broken relationships.  Christians are to be known by their love, not by lingering, divisive attitudes towards those who disagree with them.
2. Pray for the new president. Paul writes to Timothy, “I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them. Pray this way for kings and all who are in authority so that we can live peaceful and quiet lives marked by godliness and dignity. This is good and pleases God our Savior…” (I Timothy 2:1-3) How you pray is critical.  Your prayers should be for the health and well-being of the President, for wisdom, and for safety. As a believer, you should offer that prayer consistently.
3. If you have been caustically active on social media, you need to ask God to forgive you and apologize to your fellow citizens. Without question social media has given voice to millions with little governance or consequence.  Rumors, falsehoods, and opinions quickly became accepted truth.  Deceit remains sinful, even if carried out on the internet where people will often say something electronically to someone else that they would never say in person.
4. Begin to create a better nation by becoming a better citizen. Volunteer at a non-profit.  Give to charities that do important work.  Get to know your neighbors.  Develop relationships with people who are very different from you… racially, ethnically, religiously, philosophically.
5. Be a gracious winner or a good loser. The nation is divided enough.  The hostility needs to quieten.  No one needs to read one more ugly post from you on Facebook or hear you taunt your conquered foes on Twitter.  Take down your yard signs and move ahead.  There is work that needs to be done by all of us as Americans.  It’s time for us to get back to the concept of the “United” States.

May God help us forge a better nation, a more thoughtful dialogue, and a more civil discourse.  It all begins with each of us.

 

 

Dr. Jon R. Roebuck, Executive Director

I was walking across campus today, minding my own business, making the trek from the parking garage to my office, both arms filled with stuff when it happened.  I felt it before I even saw it.  For some inexplicable reason, my right shoe decided that it had been tied long enough and it gave up the ghost.  It just came untied.  There was no place to stop, set down my load, and re-tie the shoe and so I shuffled my way to my office, fearful that my shoe was about to slide off my foot at any moment.  I hate when stuff like that happens.  Everything seems to be going along nice and smooth and then suddenly something changes.

 

For most of us the problem is greater than a shoe that won’t stay tied.  Such a problem is easily fixed.  It’s the other disruptions that tend to bring us more than our fair share of angst and worry.  Take for example when the IRS sends a little note in the mail telling you that there were some errors with your return.  Or what about the phone call from the auto repair place telling you that you need new rotors along with the brake pads?  Or what about when the school nurse calls to let you know your sweet little daughter is throwing up like she could star in the new filming of The Exorcist?  I always feel for the poor guy who has the wreck on the interstate during the morning commute.  Obviously his day is not going to flow smoothly.

 

The disruptions will come.  And when they do, our once, well-ordered lives struggle to find footing again.  Let’s talk about the really big, life-altering kind of disruptions that sometimes land at our front door.  What if the phone call is from your doctor and she tells you that there are some irregularities with the blood work?  What if the market drops and suddenly your plans for retirement get put on hold for a few more long years?  What if you get a call from a friend telling you that a former class-mate just ended his life?  What happens when you are cruising along with your arms are filled with the constant baggage of daily routine and suddenly a huge storm blows into your life?  What then?  Where can you set down your load long enough to grieve and think and find shelter?

 

I think the key is in relationships.  We simply cannot afford to walk through life all alone.  Listen to the admonition of Scripture.  “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)  We were made to live in community with each other.  We were never meant to take on the disruptions by ourselves.  It’s part of the reason that Jesus said when speaking about His departure from earth, “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, who will never leave you. He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all truth.” (John 14:16-17)  Through the work of His Spirit, God has made it possible for us to never be alone.  His Spirit indwells our lives continually.  We can never find ourselves in a place, no matter how dark, nor how scary, where the Spirit can’t minister to us.

 

But let’s be honest, as good as that promise is, sometimes we need flesh and blood to hold our hands, wipe our tears, and hug our necks.  We need the Word to become flesh.  In order to have such a person in our lives, we have to risk, invest, and offer compassion.  We tend to gain friends as we offer ourselves to others in an act of friendship.  And so we have to risk a relationship.  We have to risk being vulnerable, being betrayed, and even being rejected.  Not everyone is going to be the Godly person you need, but until you risk giving yourself away you will not find that one special relationship.  We also have to invest.  Relationships take time and effort.  They take being inconvenienced at times or offering emotional energy at other moments.  We tend to get out of a relationship what we put into a relationship.  And yes, we have to offer compassion.  Friendships are forged on the anvil of thoughtful deed and loving attention.  And though many of us might boast in the number of Facebook friends we have on our social media accounts, we should really count ourselves blessed if we have those one or two people in the world who will always help, always pray, and always come to our aid.

 

You can count on life getting a little messy.  Your world is going to get untied from time to time.  I pray that when it does, your friends will be there to pick you up.  And I also pray that when called upon to do so, you will be there to help your friend tie his shoe when his arms are too full and his life is too painful.

 

 

Dr. Jon R. Roebuck, Executive Director

 Check out these verses from the story of ancient Israel as they gathered around Mount Sinai…

 

“Then Moses went up with Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel, and they saw the God of Israel; and under His feet there appeared to be a pavement of sapphire, as clear as the sky itself.” Exodus 24:9-10

You may want to read those two verses again.  Seventy-four men go up to Mount Sinai and there they “saw the God of Israel.”  It’s not the kind of thing that happens every day.  These men, in some magnificent, mysterious, glorious way were able to catch a glimpse of God.  They even described the pavement of sapphire
on which He walked.  (I know what you’re thinking… I thought no one could look on God and live.  That’s usually the case.  But God can certainly reveal Himself to whomever He chooses in whatever way He chooses.  And at least on this day, God was seen by the elders of Israel.)  Don’t you know that this image never left their hearts or minds for as long as they lived.  How many times did they tell the story of this day?
Let’s be honest, catching a glimpse of Almighty God is a rare thing.  I have not seen His face, nor has anyone else that I know.  I do hope to look on His face one day when His Son introduces me to Him in glory… but that’s a different devotional thought for another day.  Today I’m more concerned about seeing the face of God in the everyday lives we live.  The truth of the matter is that we CAN see Him each day if we know where to look.  God inhabits His creation.  And so God is revealed to us in tiny glimpses through the faces of people that we encounter.  How’s that for a thought… a little of God is present in every face we see.  If that is true, then God can be seen in the faces of rich and powerful as well as the faces of the poor and powerless.  He’s present in the face of that homeless guy selling papers on the corner.  He’s present in the face of that unwed pregnant girl at the shelter.  He’s present in the face of that troubled teenager you are raising and in the face of the senior adult at the nursing home.  And yes, He is even seen in the face that stares back at you from the mirror.  And if that is true… then suddenly your face and the face of the billions who share the planet take on a whole new worth.  What a glorious day it would be today, if you and I really began to see others the way that God does.  What if we looked closely enough to even see His resemblance?

To see His face today will require several things.  We have look beyond our first-impression judgment of others.  We cannot see color, nationality, nor gender if doing so clouds our vision.  We have to hear beyond language. If we think God only speaks English we are mistaken.  We also have to look beyond our long-formed impression of others.  History and experience with an individual cannot be allowed to blind us to the image of God within them.  So look closely today at the faces you see.  You may just catch a glimpse of your Father.

 

The Belmont University Institute for Innovative Faith-Based Leadership is excited to announce a weekly podcast that will offer insight, inspiration and information about matters of faith, leadership and culture.

Consistent with our mission statement, these weekly podcasts will endeavor to speak to relevant issues in culture, relational issues in community and resourceful ideas in funding. From time to time the podcast will feature interesting interviews with authors, theologians and community leaders who visit the Belmont campus.

Hosted by Executive Director Dr. Jon Roebuck, each podcast will be available for download from our website beginning very soon!

 

-Dr. Jon R. Roebuck, Executive Director

The picture above this article shows my favorite Bible.  It’s a leather-bound New American Standard New Testament.  As you can tell, it’s been with me for a while.  It has traveled the world with me.  It has joined me for countless graveside services.  It has stood with me in the pulpit for the better part of two decades.  But, as you can tell, it’s getting a little worn and weary.  Not only has most of the leather cover “given up the ghost,” but any day now, the thin threads that hold the Book of James together are going to fail.  (James’ connection between faith and works might get a little disconnected!)

 

I have tried for a long time to replace it with a similar Bible.  This particular edition went out of print a long time ago.  I like the size, the feel of leather in my hands, and the easy-to-read font.  I just haven’t been able to find anything close, and believe me, I have searched.  I am also a fan of the New Living Translation.  Trying to find a leather-bound New Testament in that translation has proved to be quite a challenge as well.  Sure, there are a lot of choices out there with plenty of colors, covers, and font choices, but so far, I can’t find the Bible I like.

 

A lot of people I know are struggling with the same issue, although in a different kind of way.  It seems these days that a lot of people have grown uncomfortable with the Bible they once held in their hands.  The pull of modern culture and the demands of being relevant have forced many to look for truth and moral direction in other places.  Feeling the pressure of societal acquiescence, pluralistic thought, and even political agenda has forced many to shelve their Bibles with the thought, “It was certainly good for a while, but not anymore.  It’s too outdated and too restrictive for this day and age.”  I beg to differ.

 

What becomes outdated and out-of-touch is not the truth of Scripture, but rather our limited interpretations of it.  Rather than read the Bible with fresh eyes, open minds, and compassionate hearts, we dive into the text looking for a proof text to justify some judgmental ideology, a club to beat up some wayward sinner, or a verse to help us claim moral superiority over those whose opinions and thoughts don’t align with those of our own.  What we have forgotten is that we go to the Scriptures to discover the love, grace, and redemption of our Savior, not to justify our stances.  It is almost as though we would rather change what the Bible says, than be changed by the Bible.

 

Whether I like it or not the Bible says these things:  Love all of your neighbors, care for widows and orphans in their time of distress, welcome the sojourner to your land, pray for your government leaders, turn your cheek to your enemy who strikes you, pursue justice, end hatred, embrace mercy, feed the poor, clothe the naked, sell what you have and give to those in need, proclaim release to the captives, and set free those who are downtrodden.  It does not say that it’s okay to sell your convictions for the sake political party alignment.  It does not condone the abuse of women.  It does not look the other way at crude and course conversation.  It does not marginalize immigrants or promote racial superiority.  It does not applaud greed.  It does not celebrate infidelity.  It does not give approval to deception.

 

So if you are looking for a Bible with which to destroy your opponents, justify hatred, sanction prejudice, or promote avarice, you won’t find it.  The Bible you are looking for simply does not exist.  The only one you will find will demand that you, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, Love your neighbor as yourself.”  (Luke 10:27)  Maybe it is not a new Bible you need, but more time to read the old one.