Hey Friends,
I led some of my soldiers in participating in today's Ft. Hood 5k. Only half the number showed that I expected, due to a bunch of typical Army bungling along the way.
That said, about 30 of us raced. I was first out of our unit, with a time of 20:12, and was about 10th place overall. I got an award for coming in third place for my age group (30-39)--my first every athletic trophy, I think! Several of our older soldiers also won awards. Several of our fastest soldiers, who I bested this time, were duely humbled and plan to kick tail next time.
Yet the race that supercedes all others is the race of faith we have embarked upon by God's grace, and it is that race that I will eagerly and gratefully continue to run, even when my old age catches up to me!
Please pray for my chapel service tomorrow at 0900 our time (1000 EST). There are a number of blogs in mental que, but no time at the present. Will write more later!
Your Servant in Christ,
Stephen
15.6.13
14.6.13
A Chaplain's Blood
A chaplain recently told me one of his heart-rending experiences from early in the Iraqi War.
One of his soldiers was out on patrol when his vehicle was hit by an IED. The chaplain and his assistant were on hand to help rush the litter (stretcher) from the chopper to the medical outpost. As soon as they laid the soldier down, the chaplain took his post by his soldier's right ear, telling him how much they loved him and praying for him. The chaplain continued to do this after the soldier slipped into unconsciousness.
The soldier was losing too much blood. Blood loss is the most common reason for death in the war environment. The chaplain and his assistant both happened to have the same blood type as the soldier. They were hooked up on either side of the soldier was their blood was pumped directly into him. Eventually, the soldier succumbed to his injuries.
In the aftermath of such a sudden loss and overwhelming tragedy, with tears in his eyes and prayers on his tongue, the chaplain went to inform the command, followed by this soldier's platoon.
God willing, I will never confront such a horrific ordeal with one of my soldiers, though by His grace, I will be prepared to do so. But, as I listened to this chaplain's account with bated breath, I thought over and over "My blood is not enough. It is not sufficient to save a man." Even if my blood was used to sustain somebody's life, it cannot save them. It would merely be a stall--death awaits us all.
As the Psalmist writes, "Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I again shall praise Him, my salvation and my God." (Ps. 42:5)
I am grateful to my Father in Heaven, who by His grace through faith in Jesus Christ, has become my salvation and my God. Even as I journey though the valley of death, I will look to my God and know from whom my help comes. My future hope is my present joy, knowing that whatever I pass through in this vale of tears, I again shall praise Him. For Christ's blood is sufficient.
One of his soldiers was out on patrol when his vehicle was hit by an IED. The chaplain and his assistant were on hand to help rush the litter (stretcher) from the chopper to the medical outpost. As soon as they laid the soldier down, the chaplain took his post by his soldier's right ear, telling him how much they loved him and praying for him. The chaplain continued to do this after the soldier slipped into unconsciousness.
The soldier was losing too much blood. Blood loss is the most common reason for death in the war environment. The chaplain and his assistant both happened to have the same blood type as the soldier. They were hooked up on either side of the soldier was their blood was pumped directly into him. Eventually, the soldier succumbed to his injuries.
In the aftermath of such a sudden loss and overwhelming tragedy, with tears in his eyes and prayers on his tongue, the chaplain went to inform the command, followed by this soldier's platoon.
God willing, I will never confront such a horrific ordeal with one of my soldiers, though by His grace, I will be prepared to do so. But, as I listened to this chaplain's account with bated breath, I thought over and over "My blood is not enough. It is not sufficient to save a man." Even if my blood was used to sustain somebody's life, it cannot save them. It would merely be a stall--death awaits us all.
As the Psalmist writes, "Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I again shall praise Him, my salvation and my God." (Ps. 42:5)
I am grateful to my Father in Heaven, who by His grace through faith in Jesus Christ, has become my salvation and my God. Even as I journey though the valley of death, I will look to my God and know from whom my help comes. My future hope is my present joy, knowing that whatever I pass through in this vale of tears, I again shall praise Him. For Christ's blood is sufficient.
11.6.13
Some Things Never Change
Including how a sinner is saved--by grace through faith in Christ. I remember how I fell short on this basic truth early in college, when I would tell my roommate that it seemed like there was more of a works component to salvation in the Old Testament. I failed to see the essential unity of the Covenant of Grace. One of my soldier friends was tripping over this same point last night.
Hebrews 11 chronicles many of the OT believers as having walked by faith. But that is just faith--it doesn't say anything about Jesus Christ, right? Wrong. Faith must always have an object, and that object was the Word--specifically the promises concerning Jesus. In Heb. 11, it was the promises given that drove the believers to walk by faith. God through His Word painted pictures of a heavenly promised land, the resurrection of the dead, etc. And ultimately, that great cloud of witnesses was looking toward Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith.
In Galatians 3, we are told that Abraham believed God (described as faith that comes by hearing), and it was credited to him as righteousness (v6). Was it the faith itself that was credited to him? Nope. It was the object of that faith--Christ, and His alien righteousness. Gal. 3:10-14 then makes the point abundantly clear (in refuting the Judaizer heretics)--if you think that works of the law play a role, then you must keep the law perfectly, or else you're dead. The law does not give life, it only condemns. That is why Christ had to do two key things for us: live a perfect life in our place (2 Cor. 5:21) and bear the curse of our wicked life (Gal. 3:13).
The rest of Gal. 3 then tracks how the law and the promise operated in conjunction with one another throughout the OT. The law, first given in the garden (don't eat of the tree!) and later passed down through Moses, was not a stairway to heaven but an impossible standard, exposing man's utter and desperate need for a perfect law-keeper and curse-bearer. The promise granted God's people the assured hope that such a person from God would indeed come. In other words, the law drove our faces to the ground and the promise lifted our eyes back to heaven for hope.
No, God's people of old didn't know all of the specific dimensions of Christ and His work. They didn't know the exact dates, his height, the color of his eyes, etc. And of course, most men wouldn't believe in Christ anyway, as the law and promise ultimately posed a great offense to human nature: Ye shall not be as gods, but as men in need of the Gospel of God. For OT believers, they saw the shadowy form of Christ on the horizon, while we recall the more distinct form in the rearview mirror of our faith. In both cases--even in the days of Jesus--the sight portion didn't particularly matter. It was bending one's rebellious heart in submission to Christ by the Spirit's power.
Romans 3:
21 But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law, although the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it— 22 the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction: 23 for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, 24 and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, 25 whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.
Hebrews 11 chronicles many of the OT believers as having walked by faith. But that is just faith--it doesn't say anything about Jesus Christ, right? Wrong. Faith must always have an object, and that object was the Word--specifically the promises concerning Jesus. In Heb. 11, it was the promises given that drove the believers to walk by faith. God through His Word painted pictures of a heavenly promised land, the resurrection of the dead, etc. And ultimately, that great cloud of witnesses was looking toward Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith.
In Galatians 3, we are told that Abraham believed God (described as faith that comes by hearing), and it was credited to him as righteousness (v6). Was it the faith itself that was credited to him? Nope. It was the object of that faith--Christ, and His alien righteousness. Gal. 3:10-14 then makes the point abundantly clear (in refuting the Judaizer heretics)--if you think that works of the law play a role, then you must keep the law perfectly, or else you're dead. The law does not give life, it only condemns. That is why Christ had to do two key things for us: live a perfect life in our place (2 Cor. 5:21) and bear the curse of our wicked life (Gal. 3:13).
The rest of Gal. 3 then tracks how the law and the promise operated in conjunction with one another throughout the OT. The law, first given in the garden (don't eat of the tree!) and later passed down through Moses, was not a stairway to heaven but an impossible standard, exposing man's utter and desperate need for a perfect law-keeper and curse-bearer. The promise granted God's people the assured hope that such a person from God would indeed come. In other words, the law drove our faces to the ground and the promise lifted our eyes back to heaven for hope.
No, God's people of old didn't know all of the specific dimensions of Christ and His work. They didn't know the exact dates, his height, the color of his eyes, etc. And of course, most men wouldn't believe in Christ anyway, as the law and promise ultimately posed a great offense to human nature: Ye shall not be as gods, but as men in need of the Gospel of God. For OT believers, they saw the shadowy form of Christ on the horizon, while we recall the more distinct form in the rearview mirror of our faith. In both cases--even in the days of Jesus--the sight portion didn't particularly matter. It was bending one's rebellious heart in submission to Christ by the Spirit's power.
Romans 3:
21 But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law, although the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it— 22 the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction: 23 for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, 24 and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, 25 whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.
10.6.13
Memories and Their Meaning
I know the title of this post might remind some of Freud's book title The Interpretation of Dreams, but this post is actually provoked by a piece of Scripture I have memorized. The Psalmist writes "My soul is cast down within me, therefore I remember you." (Ps. 42:6) As I considered the spiritual import for this verse, I also thought about memories of my various "happy places" throughout my life. Some of them are as follows:
Early Childhood: I remember (even in my earliest years) my mom rocking me to sleep in the dark of our living room in a particular green-cushioned rocking chair. She would whisper things as she lulled me to sleep.
Middle Childhood: When things got hairy at home, my mom would take my younger brother and I to the hospital with her (she worked the late night shift at the ER). My brother and I would spend hours engaging in adventures, like crawling underneath the vending machines for change. My favorite practice was taking some of that change and buying each of the day's newspapers.
Teenage: Under the various monikers, I was able to develop a new identity at both school and as a new Christian in my church youth group. At school, I got involved in drama and started going by the nickname "S-Dawg" in the backstage green room. At church, I participated went on extended bike trips and traveled to summer camps and became the hyperactive "Smallz" to my peers and counselors.
College: My moniker changed again, this time to "Stevo," and I became the crazy entertainer who engaged in hardcore wrestling, climbed telephone poles, jumped out of second floor windows into the snow and stole mascots from bedrooms in other dorms while the inhabitants of said bedrooms were sleeping. My happy place there was the "Shawnee House" where the fun continued unabated.
Seminary: At my apartment, followed by the "Queenston House," my label changed to "Roberts," and I again was the class clown (but somewhat more restrained). Some days, I would pull off pranks. Other days, I would just enjoy a deep discussion with cigars in the thick of the night.
Young Adult: Perhaps my two greatest happy places of all time--the guest house at the Nkhoma Misison in Malawi, and CHBOLC (my initial chaplain course at Ft. Jackson). At each of these places, I was no longer a captive to my past. I could go by any moniker and be free to be myself without any facades. At CHBOLC, I could be the fastest runner, an appreciated PT (physical training) coach, and a happy warrior for the Christian faith. In Malawi, I felt the power of Livingstone's words, "In the work I truly live; In this work I hope to die." I felt empowered to serve Christ's Church and loved it!
Of course, my happy place today is where it should have been all along: home. More specifically, it is sitting in front of a movie with my best friend under one arm and my greatest gift in my other arm. Wherever I travel with those two, it is home. And as I reflect upon the common strand interwoven through all these happy places, it was safety. In each of these places, as opposed to many others, I felt at least relatively safe--safe to be vulnerable, to experience highs and lows, to grow, to even gradually discard the moniker and be content to be a new creation in Christ.
In that brings me back to that initial verse. In a world marked by tears, where "my tears have been my food day and night" (Ps. 42:3), we need a happy place--a safe place. And that is why we remember God. He is our refuge in times of trouble. His wings are our comfort and dwelling place. (Ps. 91) In particular, I live "in view of Christ's mercy." (Rom. 12:1). My happy place is found in my union with Jesus Christ, with whom my life is now hidden, only to be exposed with Him in glory when He appears (Col. 3:1-4). In that day of blessed rest, there will be no more shame, no more tears, no more hiding. My Spirit-hewn memory will become my eternal reality. And, whatever I face this year or in the years to come, I find increasing comfort and joy in this precious happy place.
Early Childhood: I remember (even in my earliest years) my mom rocking me to sleep in the dark of our living room in a particular green-cushioned rocking chair. She would whisper things as she lulled me to sleep.
Middle Childhood: When things got hairy at home, my mom would take my younger brother and I to the hospital with her (she worked the late night shift at the ER). My brother and I would spend hours engaging in adventures, like crawling underneath the vending machines for change. My favorite practice was taking some of that change and buying each of the day's newspapers.
Teenage: Under the various monikers, I was able to develop a new identity at both school and as a new Christian in my church youth group. At school, I got involved in drama and started going by the nickname "S-Dawg" in the backstage green room. At church, I participated went on extended bike trips and traveled to summer camps and became the hyperactive "Smallz" to my peers and counselors.
College: My moniker changed again, this time to "Stevo," and I became the crazy entertainer who engaged in hardcore wrestling, climbed telephone poles, jumped out of second floor windows into the snow and stole mascots from bedrooms in other dorms while the inhabitants of said bedrooms were sleeping. My happy place there was the "Shawnee House" where the fun continued unabated.
Seminary: At my apartment, followed by the "Queenston House," my label changed to "Roberts," and I again was the class clown (but somewhat more restrained). Some days, I would pull off pranks. Other days, I would just enjoy a deep discussion with cigars in the thick of the night.
Young Adult: Perhaps my two greatest happy places of all time--the guest house at the Nkhoma Misison in Malawi, and CHBOLC (my initial chaplain course at Ft. Jackson). At each of these places, I was no longer a captive to my past. I could go by any moniker and be free to be myself without any facades. At CHBOLC, I could be the fastest runner, an appreciated PT (physical training) coach, and a happy warrior for the Christian faith. In Malawi, I felt the power of Livingstone's words, "In the work I truly live; In this work I hope to die." I felt empowered to serve Christ's Church and loved it!
Of course, my happy place today is where it should have been all along: home. More specifically, it is sitting in front of a movie with my best friend under one arm and my greatest gift in my other arm. Wherever I travel with those two, it is home. And as I reflect upon the common strand interwoven through all these happy places, it was safety. In each of these places, as opposed to many others, I felt at least relatively safe--safe to be vulnerable, to experience highs and lows, to grow, to even gradually discard the moniker and be content to be a new creation in Christ.
In that brings me back to that initial verse. In a world marked by tears, where "my tears have been my food day and night" (Ps. 42:3), we need a happy place--a safe place. And that is why we remember God. He is our refuge in times of trouble. His wings are our comfort and dwelling place. (Ps. 91) In particular, I live "in view of Christ's mercy." (Rom. 12:1). My happy place is found in my union with Jesus Christ, with whom my life is now hidden, only to be exposed with Him in glory when He appears (Col. 3:1-4). In that day of blessed rest, there will be no more shame, no more tears, no more hiding. My Spirit-hewn memory will become my eternal reality. And, whatever I face this year or in the years to come, I find increasing comfort and joy in this precious happy place.
9.6.13
Day of Rest
Of course, we know that such a day never truly exists for the pastor this side of Heaven. We attempt to bracket a Saturday or Monday, knowing that our Sunday will be spent pleading with God's people and the lost to be reconciled to God. But those days are pale imitations of the Lord's Day. Yet, even now, I can still preach to my own heart the same truths I bear to God's people.
In that vein, I continue to be blessed by these opportunities to lead the "traditional" chapel service on Sundays. Over the past three Sundays, 25-30 soldiers from different units and diverse backgrounds have gathered to hear about the grace and glory of our God in the story of Ruth. Over the past two Sundays, I have lead the singing in acapella form, lacking instrumentalists (which has been my norm for years now). Today, I had a guitarist lead us in Chris Tomlin's rendition of "Amazing Grace," played "Days of Elijah" over the sound system, and had a Gospel quartet (including myself) lead the congregation in singing "It Is Well." I have repeated the morning service in the evening the past two Sundays, drawing an additional 5-10 soldiers each time. I will do that again tonight. Next week, my brother chaplain here will be taking the Sunday evening service and making it a Friday evening "Gospel" service. I look forward to attending.
I continue to largely employ the "traditional" format with my chapel services. I employ a liturgy and preach Christ and Him crucified, without additional adornments. I will never be a PowerPoint preacher. That said, I do love bringing the old fashioned Gospel message to bear upon so eclectic a gathering as those who come each Sunday. I hope that, whether here or AFG, soldiers will be lured to that message from a variety of backgrounds and not simply scatter to the churches that fit their culture. I minister, not only to the liturgical, but believers of all backgrounds. I will continue to think and pray over these issues as I prepare to lead the traditional service on Sunday mornings at my post in AFG.
By God's grace, as I continue to get positive feedback regarding this series through Ruth, I remember that the power is in God's Word and Spirit, and not in my own feeble efforts and tongue-tied words. I usually pay little mind to the generic feed ("Good message, chaplain") as it tells me nothing about how God's Word has impacted someone's heart. But I am getting more specific feedback. Several soldiers have noted how much they appreciate how Scripture-saturated the sermons are (as they should be!). A few others have noted that they appreciate how real and personal the sermons are. My favorite remarks, however, are always the "I didn't know this was about Jesus." After chapel this morning, my good officer friend (a confessional Lutheran who goes to McLean Bible) said that he likes that I deal with historical context, point to Christ, and then draw out relevant personal points. His input reminds me of what I was taught in seminary-- to avoid moralism (jumping straight from the passage to me) and allegory (ignoring the passage and going straight to Christ). The goal is typology--understand the passage in its context, show how it points to Christ, and bring it to a close on what this particularly view of Christ's mercy means for me.
As I am buffeted by a million opinions about what the chaplain should say and when, as well as by the always unpredictable array of ordeals, and the deceptions of my own heart, may Christ my King keep me faithful by His Spirit to guard His Word and preach it in season and out, to the glory of God the Father.
In that vein, I continue to be blessed by these opportunities to lead the "traditional" chapel service on Sundays. Over the past three Sundays, 25-30 soldiers from different units and diverse backgrounds have gathered to hear about the grace and glory of our God in the story of Ruth. Over the past two Sundays, I have lead the singing in acapella form, lacking instrumentalists (which has been my norm for years now). Today, I had a guitarist lead us in Chris Tomlin's rendition of "Amazing Grace," played "Days of Elijah" over the sound system, and had a Gospel quartet (including myself) lead the congregation in singing "It Is Well." I have repeated the morning service in the evening the past two Sundays, drawing an additional 5-10 soldiers each time. I will do that again tonight. Next week, my brother chaplain here will be taking the Sunday evening service and making it a Friday evening "Gospel" service. I look forward to attending.
I continue to largely employ the "traditional" format with my chapel services. I employ a liturgy and preach Christ and Him crucified, without additional adornments. I will never be a PowerPoint preacher. That said, I do love bringing the old fashioned Gospel message to bear upon so eclectic a gathering as those who come each Sunday. I hope that, whether here or AFG, soldiers will be lured to that message from a variety of backgrounds and not simply scatter to the churches that fit their culture. I minister, not only to the liturgical, but believers of all backgrounds. I will continue to think and pray over these issues as I prepare to lead the traditional service on Sunday mornings at my post in AFG.
By God's grace, as I continue to get positive feedback regarding this series through Ruth, I remember that the power is in God's Word and Spirit, and not in my own feeble efforts and tongue-tied words. I usually pay little mind to the generic feed ("Good message, chaplain") as it tells me nothing about how God's Word has impacted someone's heart. But I am getting more specific feedback. Several soldiers have noted how much they appreciate how Scripture-saturated the sermons are (as they should be!). A few others have noted that they appreciate how real and personal the sermons are. My favorite remarks, however, are always the "I didn't know this was about Jesus." After chapel this morning, my good officer friend (a confessional Lutheran who goes to McLean Bible) said that he likes that I deal with historical context, point to Christ, and then draw out relevant personal points. His input reminds me of what I was taught in seminary-- to avoid moralism (jumping straight from the passage to me) and allegory (ignoring the passage and going straight to Christ). The goal is typology--understand the passage in its context, show how it points to Christ, and bring it to a close on what this particularly view of Christ's mercy means for me.
As I am buffeted by a million opinions about what the chaplain should say and when, as well as by the always unpredictable array of ordeals, and the deceptions of my own heart, may Christ my King keep me faithful by His Spirit to guard His Word and preach it in season and out, to the glory of God the Father.
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