Three Simple Requests

A week or so ago, I asked the Lord for one simple, specific request, and lo and behold, the Lord was pleased to graciously answer that request.

Today, on my first (unofficial) day with my new unit, I asked three simple things of the Lord on my 2 hour drive from the Dells to Eau Claire (beautiful, by the way):

1) Put one person in my path who can show me around and give me the lay of the land. A wonderful female NCO provided the answer to that prayer as soon as I walked in the door.

2) Enable me to reserve a time and room for a chapel service tomorrow (the first one conducted for the unit in about two years). It will be at 1100 CST in the classroom of the training site.

3) Use me to bless one soldier in particular today. I'm not sure how the Lord may have answered this prayer, though I had a lot of buoyant introductory chat-versations with soldiers.

Please pray for the chapel service tomorrow. Usually, these services draw 5-10 soldiers (the number balloons on deployments), often because of poor advertising and conflicting duties. Pray that the Lord would bring some believers and unbelievers, and we would all grow in our knowledge of and love for Jesus Christ through the power of His Word and Spirit.

A Long Night with the Legion

Before my first session meeting at Falls Presbyterian drew to a close, one of the elders stopped the discussion, turned to me, and said "I think it's almost time for your American Legion event. You have our blessing to go." Another elder helped me pack some food to go, and then the session prayed for me. God's grace is so clear to me in the way this dear group of brothers and fathers in the faith stand alongside of me and behind me.

I proceeded to my first American Legion meeting at their building in the center of town, wolfing down southern-style BBQ on the way (as we say in the Army, "Eat now. Taste later."). I sat down amongst a group of men who were almost exclusively from the Korea and Vietnam eras. Only one other veteran my age was there (also a member of the Village Council and follower of Falls Pres on Facebook).

The meeting was pretty standard: Funds raised for those in need and funds dispersed to those in need. Past and upcoming events. Resources for veterans facing all manners of hardship.

The time afterward was not so standard. A few of the older vets invited me to the Legion bar in the basement (a great place, filled with older folks and the hometown Miller Genuine Draft on tap). I sat down next to the occasional tender of the bar, who I met on one of my first days in Menomonee Falls. He is a funny, gregarious, get by day-to-day musician. And his dad in Florida is dying.

He updated me on his dad's condition since the last time we talked, and will go down in the next week to be with his mom in these final days. I talked with him about Jesus at the tomb of Lazarus, and the beauty of God as the unfailing father. He is bringing his Bible down to Florida with him. Please pray that he would find comfort through that life-giving Word.

While talking to the bartender-musician, I also chatted with the commander of the post and one of the few black men in Menomonee Falls. As the commander told me about a veteran who could use some extra care, my other friend told me of his inspiring climb up the economic ladder in inner-city Milwaukee. He also wanted to know what the DC elites would think about a conservative, black Republican who wears a Confederate belt buckle and loves to hunt. :)

On the other side of the bar, a half dozen widows (all of whom reminded me of my deceased grandmother) put back shots and bantered back and forth. When the conversation on my side died down, I went over and visited the women. "Oh, you're the new chaplain!" they said. I told them how good it was to meet each of them and sat down to talk with one of them in particular.

This particular widow told me that her husband died just two years ago. He didn't join the Legion until late in life because he was only in the Army for a few months and didn't think he was allowed. BUT, she readily declared, he was pushed out of the Army because of poor eyesight, despite the fact that he excelled in every test he ever took. I was inspired by how quickly she defended her husband, as if he was still there beside her.

She said he had been sick in recent years, but still always drove her if she wanted to go somewhere so that he could spend more time with her. 58 years of marriage. "He was always my best friend."

A powerful final experience to think and pray over on my drive home.

The Smell of Grace

I signed up to attend the local Toastmasters club on Meetup.com. I knew that Toastmasters give people the opportunity to practice and grow in public speaking and hoped that I might have an opportunity to give some glimpse of the Gospel to folks from the community.

Just before the meeting, I had dinner with an older member of the congregation--a passionate evangelist--and he had once been in Toastmasters. He told me that one exercise they may do is take a random topic chosen for the night and ask for volunteers to speak on that topic.

I arrived in the back room of a local pizza place, where about 20 people were gathered. I tried to make small talk with others in the few moments between speeches. An hour into the meeting, I wondered whether I had chosen the wrong venue to take a stab at outreach.

Then the random topic was announced: Potpourri. I didn't know how the format worked, so the lady who introduced the topic called upon someone to to talk about potpourri. She then asked for a volunteer and I thought "What the heck!" and volunteered.

I said something along the following lines (though not nearly as polished--I was later told I said "Uh" five times!).

"When I think of potpourri, I think of the smells, the sights, the sounds of this world in its original beauty. I think of the glory of this Creation and the world as it was meant to be.

I am a soldier, and when I deployed, it didn't smell like potpourri. It smelled like exhaust and chemical-laden burn pits, and figuratively, carried the stench of death. Potpourri also reminds me of the sweet scent used to cover the smell of death.

When I think of potpourri, I think of a world without these things. I think of a world where burn pits are filled, deserts are turned into gardens, and every tear is wiped from our eyes. I look forward to that day."

Was I too abstract? Too morbid or sentimental? I don't know. There is nothing polished about sharing the Gospel. I am a sinner trying to communicate biblical truth with other sinners. I appreciate the fact that it was noted that I said "uh" five times. My weakness was clearly exposed! I hope and trust that God showed His strength in my obvious weakness. At least I am doing this now rather than just talking about it.

Afterward, I met a number of people including a few fellow believers from different denominations. I handed a few of my old cards from Sterling. Still riding my extroverted social high, I gave a cheerful goodbye to the gals working in front of the restaurant and started kicking myself as soon as I got to the car, thinking I should have tried to talk to them a bit.

I then realized that I forgot my Toastmasters folder and went back in to grab it and found myself in a good conversation with four or five of the workers at the place. I told them about Falls Presbyterian and invited one of them in particular to come. I acutely felt the emptiness of my pocket, devoid of any current business cards or church invitation cards. I won't make that mistake again. They will be on the printer by the end of the week.

In any case, one of the gals was interested in visiting the church. She was convinced we have a sign with constantly changing messages in front of the church (we don't). I just continually repeated the intersection--"We would love to see you at Falls Church at the intersection of Pilgrim and Good Hope!" I hope she comes.

Please pray for these continued endeavors, dear friends. And may our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, be known and loved by more hearts and confessed by more tongues!

A Call to Come Home: A Status Update

Greetings, Brothers and Sisters.

The report below is intentionally dry so that you will have the bones in place for the stories of flesh and grace that will follow in the weeks and months to come, in God's gracious providence. As I will preach at Falls Presbyterian tomorrow, the theme for this season will be "Come Home"--the call of God to truly live within the blessed confines of His salvation by grace through faith in Christ.

On October 1st, I officially began my labors as an Evangelist with Falls Presbyterian Church in Menomonee Falls, WI. The installation service, featuring my friend, Pastor Matt Barker, and the two other pastors at Falls, Pastors Ben Snodgrass and Jonathan Falk, provided a stirring initiation into this new work. Below, I will present to you my initial approach to this work, things I have learned and done thus far, and ways in which you can pray.

First, over this first quarter (three months) of work that I do as part of a two-year calling, I have two focuses: Integration and Promotion.

Integration: I will work over these first several months to become integrated within both the church and the community. I will attend church events and engage in a lot of hospitality with my new friends at the church in order to know them--their passions, gifts, struggles, etc--in order to later engage them in outreach. I also will visit groups, individuals, and events within the community that will provide a foundation for the church's eventual engagement with the community. Specifics to follow in my report of current activities.

Promotion: There are two great advantages to a robust effort to promote the church--more people in the community will know of the church, and members of the church will have the opportunity to identify with the church and engage with others on a very simple level. Efforts at promotion will include both technological and personal components.

Second, I have hit the road with these focuses over my first week of work, and I would like to share with you cool opportunities that have already arises, as well as lessons that I have learned.

I visited our local Army recruiting station this past Wednesday and had a great conversation with several of the active duty soldiers there. Their unit has virtually no chaplain support, and they asked me to come introduce myself to the unit in the nearby Milwaukee suburbs later in the month.

Afterward, I visited our local American Legion post, where I met the group's commander and transferred my membership. We hit it off, and on Friday, I helped some members of the group--as well as some Boy Scouts and JV football players--unfurl a giant flag across the local high school football field before the Homecoming football game.

On Friday morning, I providentially encountered a retired soldier on the street and got his business card and will follow up with him. I also visited the Chamber of Commerce, where I met and got the business card of the local volunteer running the place and got lots of good resources and information on the community. I then visited the YMCA, where I met the coordinator of their veterans programs and got to know a number of the workers there.

With regard to promotion, I have taken over and updated our Facebook page (and will keep it regularly updated). I also hope to get both bumper magnets and invitation cards for the church in the next couple of weeks, so that our church will be splashed across dozens of bumpers, and so that every member will have the opportunity to hand cards out like candy to friends, co-workers, and strangers--and get more comfortable with regularly relating to folks on a spiritual level. As the Army would say, we will follow a crawl-walk-run pattern. Please pray for us in this crawl phase!

A few lessons I have learned:

I knew the culture here was far different than the East and West coasts, but I am noticing how those differences play out on the ground level.

On the coasts, you usually have to introduce the basic truths of the Bible to folks, while most folks are have attended and/or currently attend church here. They have a general comprehension of those truths, but need to have the significance and meaning poured into those truths for them.

People here worship the Packers. I love football and will cater to this love and use it for the Gospel.

Civic activism is huge here. No need for community organizers. Volunteering in local government, the school systems, and organizations like the Boys Scouts is rampant.

It is those civic activities where I will gain more traction in engagement than at local bars and pubs. This is a more family-oriented and house-centered culture than the DC area.

People tend to hibernate a bit during the winter (largely in their finished basements with accompanying wet bars), but tend to travel north to cottages with their families each weekend during the summer.

Milwaukee and its environments may be the most segregated area in the country. This is a shame, but also a wonderful opportunity to show how the Gospel speaks to and transcends every culture.

Some people in the "village" of 40,000 have heard of Falls Presbyterian--most have not. And when they think "Presbyterian" they think the large, unbelieving mainline Presbyterian churches in town.

Third, please pray for us in the following ways:

1) That I would be faithful in my own labors and witness to the Gospel as I further integrate into the church and the community.

2) That I will find opportunities to follow-up with the contacts already made, as well as establish new contacts in the community each successive week.

3) That my relationships with brothers and sisters in the church would blossom in God's grace and create a shona-ba-shona (Afghan for shoulder-to-shoulder) mentality would be inculcated.

4) That the profile of Falls Presbyterian and the Gospel she proclaims will both be held forth in the community and become better known.

5) That more and more opportunities to share the Gospel would be presented to our precious body of believers!

With Gratitude in Christ,
Stephen

Hand-Holding in the Hallowed Halls of Death

For more than a week now, I have enjoyed the severe privilege of visiting a soldier and his children in the hospital. Their wife and mother was asleep one door down from us, lost in a coma caused by some sort of bleeding on the brain.

Over the first couple of days of visiting with them, everything was spinning. The soldier was trying to figure how to take care of his kids' (ages 14 and 12) daily needs as well as budgeting--both long covered by his wife. He was surrounded by friends and family. On the third day I visited him, I got to see the kids as well, and play charades with them all.

Today, I took a fellow captain with me, who served in Iraq with this soldier. The captain had flown here for several weeks of duty from his home in Seattle, and was planning to do dinner with the soldier and his wife. She fell into her coma on the day that he arrived.

The captain brought a plaque with him for the soldier, commemorating his service in Iraq. When we arrived, the teary-eyed sister of the wife appeared, letting us know that they had received bad news. The wife had several more strokes and the doctors were in the process of telling our soldier that his wife would not wake up.

I put my arm around the sister and started praying with her and the captain. The soldier came in a moment later and joined us in prayer. He was glad to see his old friend from deployment and was honored by the plaque. They talked about those bygone days for a few moments, then the soldier invited us into his wife's hospital room. He brought the plaque in with him and put it by her bedside, saying that he could not have done it without her.

I listened as the soldier talked to his wife, knowing that the light is slowly fading from her eyes. I watched as her chest heaved up and down, knowing that it would not do so on its own. Again, I went before the Lord in prayer with these dear folks, asking for the same God of grace who had so lavishly gifted this family with life and love to care for this dear woman as she walked the valley of the shadow of death.

Before we left, I told the soldier that I knew he needed to adopt a deployment mentality right now for the sake of his family, but that one day, he would need to re-deploy (return). I believe he heard me.

He then left to pick up his kids from sports practice, like his wife would've done, and tell them that it is time to say goodbye.

Empty Gloves

I just came into possession of a pair of gloves. I already have about half a dozen pairs of gloves--and this pair I will never wear. They belonged to SPC Matthew Serpa.

A soldier directed me to a couple of large duffle bags a little while ago. They were the bags that Serpa sent home, but never picked up. As I thumbed through the uniforms and other miscellaneous supplies, I smelled the dirt and sweat. I went back to my soldier and tried to describe the smell--"Smell like deployment, sir?" That was exactly what it smelled like.

I didn't know what to take, but I wanted to take something. All of the uniforms were dirt and sweat-smudged and obviously not touched since we came back almost 18 months ago. It feels like an eternity.

I have no idea when Serpa last wore those gloves. Likely at some point during the deployment, when all seemed to be going well in that witty, introspective mind of his. They covered the same hands that ravenously tore apart pizza to satisfy a young man's appetite, and awkwardly offer gestures to accompany his halting speech.

What will I do with these empty gloves? I will remember the young soldier I shepherded for four years, who shook my hand when he first arrived at the unit, straight out of high school, and who engaged me in late-night conversations in the California desert. I will remember the young man who gave me a tour of his post in northern Afghanistan and shared a flight with me back to Dulles the night we returned home. I was the last person from our unit to see him home, as I watched him walk away to catch a taxi as my wife and mother ran to embrace me.

I will remember that most soldiers come back from war, but few come home. The hell that soldiers bear witness to on the surface of this world often does not compare to the hell they bear under the surface, in the world of their souls.

I will remember that one day, my gloves will sit empty as well. And the thought of my empty gloves does not leave me with an empty heart. My hands may perish from this earth, but the hands that hold me--the hands that snatch sinners from a literal hell, not merely a metaphorical one--will endure.

Praise be to God.

Finally, The Phone Call That Never Came

It has been about five months since one of my soldiers, SPC Serpa, lost his life by his own hand. Five months since he wrote me on Facebook, saying he would like to talk and asking for my number. I gave him my number and told him I would love to talk. The call never came.

In the past few days, an unknown friend reached out of the darkness for me on Facebook. He told me that he was a friend of Matt Serpa, read my blog posts, and wanted to talk. As with Matt, I gave him my number and waited. This young man did indeed call.

We talked for the better part of an hour last night. He was Serpa's fraternity brother at Columbia, and has wrestled with the darkness that took his friend's life ever since his tragic passing. I think there were three primary things that were affecting him:

1) Regret. He said it wasn't so much a feeling of guilt that perplexed, but just the haunting "What if?" questions. What if he had been more attentive or proactive with regard to Serpa's psychological deterioration? What if he had picked up the phone a few more times toward the end? Perhaps all of this wouldn't have happened.

We spoke a bit about God's mysterious providence. I don't know why the Lord gave Serpa so few years, but I know that those were years we couldn't prolong or diminish--as much as we would like to take credit or blame. Also, considering the fact that God had appointed this lifespan for Serpa, we can certainly be thankful that we got to enjoy a piece of it, and perhaps add something to it.

2) Shallow Answers. The worst of these being "Remember the good times you had with him," or even "Remember him for who he was--before all this happened." But this young man could not find it within himself to euphemize death, as is so common in our culture. The fact is that this brokenness was a part of Serpa, and eventually led to his death.

There were several things we talked about concerning these shallow answers. First, we need to take death seriously. It is not something to be dismissed lightly--it is a horrendous rending of the fabric of God's beautiful creation. It screams with the blood of Abel (Gen. 4--whose name means "chaos," by the way) and evoked a heart-rending cry from the very Son of God (John 11). It deserves more than petty cliches and dismissal--it deserves an emphatic answer.

Second, we talked about the complexity of human nature. My new friend was right not to blot out Serpa's brokenness--it was as much a part of his (fallen) being as was his inherent dignity. To deny a part of Matt is to deny Matt entirely and reduce him to a cardboard cutout. We honor his memory by remembering the whole person.

Third, because humans are complex beings--both dignified and fallen--my new friend has to resist the temptation to react against the culture by only dwelling on Serpa's steady descent into death. Serpa was not just broken, but dignified--his unique, God-given personality and gifts were eventually wasted by him, but they should not be wasted by us. We must remember those precious things as God's gift to us and rejoice that we could offer him gifts in his brief life as well.

3) The Rock is Gone. This young collegiate greatly admired Serpa, who was a few years older. A lot of the fraternity brothers recognized that he had a real-world experience in his deployment that none of them had. In a sense, Serpa had grown to mythological proportions in this man's mind. He was a rock--a man of solid fiber who could withstand the worst of the world. And bit by bit, the rock crumbled to dust and blew away, leaving a gaping void in this young man's life.

Thus becomes every earthly idol--whether it be people, education, riches, pleasure, or family. They all eventually blow away in the present wasteland of worldly existence.

This young man has slowly been succumbing to the same darkness that entombed Serpa. I told him that death requires a fight, and the fight starts with serious wrestling and serious answers. Instead of simply giving way, he needs to DO something. He needs to go to church and hear what God has to say on the matter. He needs to find a rock that won't crumble.

God-willing, he will be visiting Redeemer PCA in New York City, which is right down the road from him.

I told him to save my number in his phone. I deployed with 152 soldiers, came home with 152 soldiers, and now have a hole in my deployment roster. He will fill that hole.

May the Lord bless and guide this journey of grief to the cross. And, brother, if you are reading this, the journey is just beginning. You didn't call me out of the darkness--the Lord was calling you.