As I rush to finish last-minute preparations for a looming Bible study, I think that my torrid pace is a result of my immaturity. That someday I'll grow out of it. One day I'll be cool, calm, and collected (and prepared) like the preachers of old (though never remotely as intelligent). I think of Jonathan Edwards, Timothy Dwight, Lyman Beecher. Wait... Lyman Beecher? One of the great pastors of the Second Great Awakening? Cool, calm, collected, and prepared? Look at the image. He sure looks it, doesn't he? Now for the truth. Here is a description of a typical Sunday morning by his famed daughter Harriet Beecher (Stowe):

"The bells would begin to ring, and still he would write [his sermon notes]. They would toll loud and long, and his wife would say, "He will certainly be late," and then would be running up and down stairs of messengers to see that he was finished, till, just as the last stroke of the bell was dying away, he would emerge from the study with his coat very much awry, come down the stairs like a hurricane, stand impatiently protesting while female hands that ever lay in wait, adjusted his cravat and settled his coat collar, calling loudly the while for a pin to fasten together the stubbed bits of paper [his notes], which being duly dropped into the crown of his hat, and hooking wife or daughter like a satchel on his arm, away he would start on such a race through the streets as left neither brain nor breath till the church was gained" (From Sea to Shining Sea, p. 115).

I praise God that He continually uses the rest of us... those whose best thinking sometimes comes at the least opportune times.

Marcelle is about 60 years old, white hair, 5' 4", medium build, and piercing blue eyes. His gait could be described as more of a shuffle than a walk.

A couple of months ago he showed up in the parking lot as we were setting up for a Sunday morning service. As he hit people up for change, the overpowering odor of alcohol betrayed his intentions.

Réal was the first to spot him. I love Réal. If you want to learn about Christ's unconditional love, watch how Réal loves. When he saw Marcelle, he did the only logical thing. He wrapped his arms around Marcelle and brought him inside.

Marcelle hung around until the service started, then took off... but not before Réal secured a promise that he would stay for the entire service the next week.

True to his word, Marcelle was there for the entire service the following week... hitting people up for change during our coffee break... the smell of alcohol following him wherever he went.

So what do you do? We follow Réal's lead. His advice was not to worry for the time being. More than correction, Marcelle needed to see Jesus.

A week later... Marcelle shows up at the end asking for money. The same aroma. I pulled him aside and told him I wouldn't give him any money, but I'd buy him food if he needed it. Did he need it? "My fridge is empty and I have no money". I repeated my offer a couple of times. He waited patiently off to the side as I closed up the building.

"Do you have any family? Children?"

"No. I'm a widower twice over. It's not a funny to be a widower. I've been alone for seven years now. It's not funny to be alone." 

We bought $25 of groceries at at nearby convenience store, then carried it up to his studio apartment down the street
 

I was surprised. Everything was completely organized. The bed was made. Finished crossword puzzles piled neatly at one corner of his 3' x 3' dining room table.. A couple dozen books lining the other side. He loves to read.

I had to go.

Marcelle showed up around noon last Sunday. He just wanted to thank me for the groceries.

"Do you still like to read?"

"Yes. All the time"

"Are you able to read this?" I asked as I handed him a Bible.

"With my glasses, sure."

He thanked me, eager to begin with the gospel of John.

Please pray for Marcelle. 

 Found this over at the HarborChurch blog by Matt Dirk (the fact that I'm linking to a soundbite-ish quote probably just goes to prove his point):

Nicholas Carr writes this in The Atlantic:

I’m not thinking the way I used to think. I can feel it most strongly when I’m reading. Immersing myself in a book or a lengthy article used to be easy. My mind would get caught up in the narrative or the turns of the argument, and I’d spend hours strolling through long stretches of prose. That’s rarely the case anymore. Now my concentration often starts to drift after two or three pages. I get fidgety, lose the thread, begin looking for something else to do. I feel as if I’m always dragging my wayward brain back to the text. The deep reading that used to come naturally has become a struggle.

I think I know what’s going on... click here to continue reading

In 1998 I (Rob) visited a cave in the Alps of southern France where a group of "les huguenots" hid for about 50 years during severe persecutions by the Catholic church. John Piper, on his blog, shares another story of resisting Huguenots:

June 9, 2008  |  By: John Piper 

"Authenticy". Everyone talks about it (in US evangelical circles anyway). They try new "ancient" experiences, like candles, incense, pillows, and rusty nails, in the name of being "authentic". (Ironically, I actually enjoy many of these sensory experiences.) What makes me uneasy is how many search for an "authentic" worship experience through the transformation of their surroundings... the exterior.

First century Judaism was already 2000 years old during Jesus' lifetime. Ancient sights, smells, sounds, textures, and wisdom, thoroughly saturated every millimeter of it's existence. And somehow, the ones who were most saturated with this "ancientness", were, according to Jesus, the ones farthest away from "authentic" worship.

Sitting in the basement of a 1960's First Baptist Church with a styro-foam cup full of bad coffee, depending on the hearts of who is there, can be the most "authentic" worship imaginable.

The other evening we were sitting in a living room. No coffee. No music. An energetic two-year old ran around us. It was a "regular" small group.

As we discussed the subject of spiritual warfare, I noticed something. I noticed how people began their sentences.

"When my son died..."

"When my husband died..."

"When my wife left me..."

"When my son died..." 

Despite our ordinary surroundings, this "regular" group was extraordinary. This group was baring its heart. They had been there and back again... and weren't afraid to talk about it in the most profound ways imaginable.

Sometimes between tears, one speaks of the difficult path he has walked over the past 2-3 years.  Another looks him in the eye, praising God for His goodness through incredible pain. A third responds with a renewed passion for God's glory in our community.

These have resisted the temptation to curse God (or others), and are living out Psalms 30:11. Their hope is firmly grounded in the work and person of Jesus Christ... the one who died, understanding their suffering; and rose again, destroying the effects the very death that has caused them so much pain.  I only pray that when hardship comes, God will allow me to follow in their profound, "authentic", footsteps.

These people are my heros.

Francis Chan is a pastor in Southern California who recently wrote the book CrazyLove. (the videos at www.crazylovebook.com are amazing as well).

Up to now, I've loved everything I've seen and read by him. Check out this breathtaking video: