“Do Not Worry About Tomorrow”

I’m sitting at a table this morning breathing mountain air and relishing delicious silence. Until ten minutes ago, I’d been spending the morning out on the deck of the cabin, bestirring myself only to move my chair to chase cool shade as the sun began its march. Ponderosa pines barely move in the almost non-existent breeze. This is good.

A week ago (where did the time go?) we left home with another couple, some of our dearest friends with whom we’ve shared every stage of life. No one could ever be called poor who has had such friends. Three of the four of us are now retired. As usual, I’m the odd one out. I love what I do, but I seem to be the one most dreading leaving the high country. I love preaching, singing, writing, “pastoring,” and, retired or not, I’m sure I’ll never completely stop doing those things until, well, I completely stop. (Unless my Father has a different plan, I expect the singing to go on.) But after almost thirty-nine years of doing all of the above from the same home base, I could do with, say, a six-week sabbatical if I could get my paid staff to cover for me. Oh, wait. What staff? And trying to get things done ahead for that many great weeks would not be great.

Even a pre-vacation week of what my brother calls the “pre-tripulation” was no fun, but this present week has been great. I preached and sang during the first weekend. That’s not really being “off,” I guess, but doing so at 8,600 feet or so in the mountains is a sweet pleasure.

Most of us should take much more time “off” to be worth much more when we’re “on.” Some time spent just breathing and “being” helps us keep our “doing” in perspective. That’s no small gift. Our Father knew what he was talking about when he prescribed, yea, verily, in his Commandments, some regular down time.

One of the things I’ve learned, yet again, about myself is that I spend too much time dreading things. I’ve always spent too much time worrying, and that has never been fruitful. My Father is right about that, too. I don’t think my tendency to worry is sinful—part of my propensity toward anxiety is as much inherited as are my blue eyes—but a significant portion of it is just dumb. My job, with God’s help, is to try to rein it in.

In the mountains, I do better at saying to myself, “You’re off, Curt. If you feel a need to worry about something, put it off until you lose altitude.” I do fairly well at that. But dread is worry’s scrawny twin. Nobody loves home more than I do, but I know how these days fly by, and unbidden comes the always unwelcome mental image of mountains in the rear-view mirror. I dread re-packing even as I’m unpacking. Dumb and dumber. I know. But did I claim that this is rational? I did not.

I managed to finish a fairly large project and several smaller ones before we left. I’m thankful. And surprised. But I still have in my head, like anyone with responsibilities, a list of “to do” items and events that are waiting for me at home. Most of them are good. Even enjoyable. I still dread getting back up to speed. I’d gladly wait another month.

Some of my “dreads” are more significant. The time with my three companions, one of whom I’ve been married to for 48 years, has been remarkably sweet. I dread the time when we’re down to three, but I need to be celebrating the time we’ve had and still have together. (And I really do; I’m not that neurotic.)

Strange maybe, even as a “dreader,” I’ve never particularly dreaded the end of life, except for causing sadness for my loved ones. Author Bill Bryson reports in his great book The Body: A Guide for Occupants, that slightly more than 8,000 items make up the list of things that can kill us, and “we escape every one of them but one.” Interesting. And he’s not factoring in the Christian belief that our “end” is no end at all but the most wonderful beginning, the eternal description of which is Joy.

     But right now, well, I dread a list of things from the morning’s quietness passing, to the ending of a good cigar out on the deck (forgive me, but I’m unrepentant), to the bottom of a great cup of New Mexico Piñon Coffee, to the vacation’s end. I dread packing. I dread losing altitude. I dread next week’s quarterly IRS payment. I dread… I dread your reading this column and discovering that I’m a whiny idiot.

Jesus says this is no way to live. Instead, he urges us to gratefully focus first on God, his kingdom, and his provision. For paragraphs now, wise readers have been wanting to tell me that the medicine for this affliction is to live in the moment, marinating each of them with gratitude. The Lord agrees. And then he says, “[D]o not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.” I smile when he adds, “Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34). That sounds practical, realistic, and very wise.

Time to pack. That which I have dreaded has come to pass. Rats.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“This Is the Day That the Lord Has Made”

“This is the day that the Lord has made / We will rejoice and be glad in it.”

If you find your brain putting the tune to those lyrics in your head, you probably learned it in Sunday School or Vacation Bible School. It’s a nice song, with a great message, though it is most certainly a potential “ear worm.” As “ear worms” go (songs that get stuck in your head), it beats the daylights out of “Achy Breaky Heart” and such mind-numbing atrocities. But I confess to a bit of a strained relationship with it.

I don’t ever expect to wake up with a desire to break into a jaunty song, even one with an uplifting message. (I did sing an early morning live music program at a coffee shop once for a couple of hours and actually enjoyed it.) It’s not that I wake up in a bad mood, I just am not a “morning person.”

It really is science, you know. We are all born with a certain “chronotype.” It’s literally in our genetics and hard-wired into our brains. Look up “suprachiasmatic nucleus” (SCN). I can point you to some good books on the fascinating subject of chronotypes, but it won’t take much thought for you to know if you’re a lark (morning person), owl (as in night owl), or a “third bird” (somewhere in the middle). You already know, and it’s clear that everyone who is breathing is on the scale somewhere. Obviously, we all have to learn to shift, like it or not, into the mode that jobs and families require. But we’re all at our best when we’re in our natural “zone.”

The above really is true, but I wish you luck in trying to convince most morning folks that their chronotype is not inherently more virtuous.

In any case, I prefer to greet the morning as quietly as possible, easing into conversation and light.

So, I admit that the “This Is the Day” song is one I’d prefer to have wafting through my brain cells a bit later in the day. And when I leave the house, and it’s already windy with a brown haze rising up to foul the atmosphere, I know I should be thankful anyway. I know that I am incredibly blessed, and nonetheless tempted to be whiny. So, sing me that song? Please, no. By the way, my considered opinion is that the “new heavens and the new earth” will feature only gentle breezes and no dirt in the air. I refuse to blame God for sandstorms—and anything else far, far worse.

Maybe that’s why I felt a little better when I realized that, in context, the verse that is the basis for the aforementioned song is not actually talking about any, or all, of our days; it is talking about a specific day. It’s the “day of salvation,” the “day” when Jehovah saves his people. Through his mighty power, the “stone” the “builders rejected” becomes the very “cornerstone” of God’s kingdom. Christians believe that the true cornerstone has a name: Jesus Christ. (Read Psalm 118, and Matthew 21:33-44 in which Jesus himself references the psalm. For a thought-provoking article on this, Google the name “Andy Kessler” and “What Does Psalm 118:24 Mean?”).  

I’m not sure what it says about me, but I could easily be the guy who, when asked if a cup of coffee was half full or half empty, replies, “It doesn’t matter. Either way, we’re not gonna have enough coffee.” That said, I’m very much aware that, through Christ, whatever sort of day comes, his people will find in him more than enough strength and hope, grace and love. I just find the realism of the Son of God refreshingly reassuring and grounded in truth: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 14:33).

Trouble, yes. But also, assured and ultimate victory in Christ. Both assertions very true, no matter one’s mood. Both very true, no matter if the day is a great one or, not so much.

In the same way, I like it when Jesus says, “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34). And that, in this present world, is the plain, realistic, and unvarnished truth.

As the recent ads have said about Christ, “He Gets Us.” He surely gets me.

Trouble is real. But joy and hope in Christ is real, too, and far longer-lasting.

Back to the song. You don’t have to tell me. I’ve long ago realized that I get no pass on the “rejoicing” part. Of course, the Psalms take reality head-on, and you can find yourself and any of your “days,” good or bad, all over them. Every emotion humans can experience is found somewhere in the Psalms. But they do indeed say a lot about rejoicing.

And you don’t have to remind me (I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t, though you probably should) that the Apostle Paul famously said, “Rejoice in the Lord always . . .” (Read Philippians 4:4-7.)

I’m working on it. But I admit that, if you want to find me a tad more toward “glad,” it’s best to wait until mid-morning.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“The Light Shines in the Darkness”

Four candles. At church, we lit four candles this morning. I’m talking about Advent candles. One for each of the four Sundays before Christmas. And now, only the “Christ candle,” the large white one in the center of the Advent wreath, is left.

I didn’t grow up lighting candles at church. I do remember getting to light candles at a wedding in my hometown church once. My brother and I were pressed into service as candlelighters. Using real candle-lighters. We looked like altar boys in training. And I still think it was probably a mistake to let Jim loose with fire. But we lit a lot of candles, and I liked it.

I was taught many good things at that church that have blessed me all of my life, and I treasure many of the relationships, but I still think we were short on candles. I’ve been trying to rectify that for a number of years now.

I won’t go into the history, but, truth be told, I think we were a little wary of anything that was perhaps too beautiful. We were certainly wary of anything at all “ornate.” Were our Puritan roots partially responsible? I think so. Right along with the idea that what was not “authorized” in Scripture was forbidden (as if the New Testament were simply an update on the Old, a revised book of laws; as if the cross-bought new covenant itself were really just a revision of religious business as usual). “Silence” in Scripture, particularly regarding worship, was considered to be strictly prohibitive, instead of being an area of complete freedom.

It was no new fight, of course. I understand that the great reformers (and their followers), Martin Luther and Ulrich Zwingli, the former in Germany and the latter in Switzerland, disagreed over the same sorts of “issues.” Candles for Luther, but none for Zwingli. Organs for Luther, but not even congregational singing for Zwingli who found no authorization for it. Those two giants dealt with the “silence” of New Testament Scripture very differently.

It seems to me that the Apostle Paul would tell us that we need to make a decision we believe does not hinder the spread of the gospel or violate the law of love toward our brothers or our neighbors in any way, and proceed to worship, glorifying God. No fussing and no judging. “Your brother may disagree with you, but don’t you doubt for a moment that he will stand justified before God—for the very same reason you will” (Romans 14:4, my paraphrase).

But the far larger point, vastly larger than any externals, is also made incredibly strongly by the apostle. What an amazing chapter is 2 Corinthians (that “2” is pronounced “second,” by the way, and this hint is free for politicians) Corinthians 3 where he again contrasts (as if Romans and Galatians and more were not enough) trusting in a written code and the power of human effort, versus trusting completely in the Spirit and God’s “work” accomplished completely through Christ. Even as the apostle warns us, “the letter of the law kills,” he exults, “but the Spirit gives life.”

This is potent stuff! This is the gospel, the good news. It will bring freedom to our souls. It will light them up with joy! If it encourages us maybe to light a candle or two, or sing a song or two, or play a symphony, or dance in delight, or marvel in wonder, or bow in gratitude, or open our hearts for laughter in the very presence of the God of all joy, well, that’s just the beginning of eternal consequences. (Warning: It has also been known to cause religious folks of the toxic variety to start nailing together crosses for crucifixions.)

I’m not particular about the candles. They’re just one sweet tradition (and, look it up, the whole idea of Advent seems like a very good idea, and a “preparation” my heart seriously needs; funny how often we discover stuff someone else discovered centuries ago). I surely do like them. I just wish I could slow down the time between now (the four candles) and the lighting of His. I want to enjoy every moment. Bask in the anticipation. Enjoy the twinkle of every light. 

But I am serious about “the joy” and very particular indeed about our not missing this fact: When we celebrate Christ’s birth, the whole point is that God did it. We didn’t. And we never could. Salvation didn’t come from us. Never could. Never would. Never will.

We celebrate Christ’s coming at Bethlehem. Because. God. Did. It.

Wonder of wonders! The light has come! And the darkness will never overcome it.

You’re invited to visit my website at http://www.CurtisShelburne.com, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“Don’t Forget to Say Grace”

Saying grace.

It’s an interesting term. What about . . .

Saying mercy. Saying hope. Saying love.

We don’t “say” those things. But we “say grace.” And we know exactly what we mean.

Wikipedia says that “the term comes from the Ecclesiastical Latin phrase gratiarum actio, ‘act of thanks.’” The article goes on to mention various biblical passages in which, no surprise, Jesus and the Apostle Paul pray before meals. For over two thousand years, “saying grace” before meals has been a sweet tradition for most Christians. I’ve not done much further research, but it seems that in Judaism, a benediction is most often said after the meal.

Various Christian traditions have used specific table graces. Most of us have taught our kids simple table graces. I remember an older and well-loved mentor, Dr. John Victor Halvorson, always leading us in the well-known, “Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest; let these gifts to us be blessed.” From what I’ve read, this sweet table grace is particularly prominent among North American Lutherans, though it has certainly spread much farther. Dr. Halvorson was Lutheran, for sure, but he was also Norwegian, and I’d wondered if his tradition might have had Norwegian roots. Anyway, I brought that table grace home with me, and my little family used it often.

And, of course, many of us pray more “spontaneous” table graces quite often. I wonder how many times my father said grace at our table as I was growing up in Amarillo. On the wall above the table hung a beautiful print of Warner Sallman’s “Head of Christ.” Beneath it, my dad and our family prayed.

However we thank God for his gifts and ask for his blessing, gratitude is the point.

May I pause here to chuckle a bit?

One of my blessings is having the best “birth order” imaginable. I was the fourth of five kids, but Mom and Dad had two families. Three kids first, and then fifteen years passed before my birth. Two years later, here came my third brother, the caboose, Child #5. My older siblings have always asserted that our parents were just tired after Jim and I came along, and we’ve always gotten away with a lot. Be that as it may (okay, they’re correct), I was the fourth kid but the firstborn of the second family. Fourth child license but also with some firstborn privilege. It doesn’t get better than that. Jim and I were along for the ride just for fun, and we’ve always considered that to be our job description.

For years, my brothers and I have been incredibly blessed to spend a bunch of good time with the older bros. (My sis passed away some years ago.) Twice a year, at least, for decades, we’ve gotten together at our maternal grandparents’ old place at Robert Lee, Texas. At a restaurant there, we discovered years ago a bit of a problem.

You see, our oldest brother, with (I suspect) the conscience that is his birthright as the true firstborn, is very committed to saying grace before meals, even at restaurants. My next oldest brother is equally convinced that Jesus meant it when he cautioned us about doing our “acts of piety” before men. For a year or two, I thought we might starve as we waited to plot a prayer course before the meal. Jim and I could go either way. But we were hungry.

Decades ago now, the older boys reached a compromise. Yes, we’d pray, but nothing long. And I must say, I agree that gratitude deserves a real place at any table, but a filibuster does not. Come to think of it, Dr. Halvorson’s prayer is a nice compromise. Saying grace is a good thing. It is a simple but rich reminder of the Source of all blessing. But let’s not stop there.

I like G. K. Chesterton’s approach: “You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and the pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in ink.”

Point well made. And well taken.

Grace to you and yours for a Happy Thanksgiving!

You’re invited to visit my website at http://www.CurtisShelburne.com, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“In the Year That Queen Elizabeth II Died . . .”

Tomorrow, as I’m writing, the funeral for Queen Elizabeth II will be held at Westminster Abbey. (My invitation seems to have been lost in the mail.)

Seventy years and 214 days. According to Wikipedia, her reign is “the longest of any British monarch, the longest recorded of any female head of state in history, and the second-longest verified reign of any monarch in history.”

In Isaiah 6, when the prophet Isaiah wants to tell his readers when his amazing vision and his divine commissioning took place, he simply says, “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, and seated on a throne . . .”

Isaiah remembered. And he knew his readers of that day would, too. Most scholars seem to think that Judah’s King Uzziah died in about 739 B.C. He had reigned for 52 years, and under his reign, Judah had prospered. His accomplishments, innovations, faithfulness, and even his sad ending (leprosy) are fascinating. It doesn’t take five decades for a ruler to leave an indelible mark, for good or ill, and for people to “set their clocks” by him.

Depending on our years (and even, for those who are younger, on the memories of our predecessors), we remember the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated, the day the World Trade Center towers (and freedom itself) were attacked—and so much more.

“In the year that Queen Elizabeth II died . . .”

Not a bad marker for our times, whether we’re British or not. For many of us, until September 8, 2022, we’d never drawn a breath when Queen Elizabeth was not reigning. And what a fascinating and exemplary reign it was!

Her reign spanned the governments of fifteen prime ministers, beginning with the one man most “indispensable” in winning World War II, Winston Churchill, and ending two days before her death (!) as she met with Liz Truss and officially invited her to form a government. According to the BBC, Truss was born 101 years after Churchill was born. The astounding numbers and statistics of a 70-year reign are unending. 

But far more remarkable here than quantity is quality. I make no apology: I am in awe of this incredible individual, and I doubt the world will ever see her like again.

I find myself wondering about the hand of Providence and asking questions that no mortal can answer. “Ifs” abound.

If King Edward VIII, Elizabeth’s uncle, had not abdicated his throne (in 1936) for “love” (the quotes seem richly deserved) and cast aside his duty, his far more honorable brother would not have become King George VI, and, of course, the world would have never known Queen Elizabeth II.

She did her duty and much more than any country, any subject, could possibly ask or expect from a sovereign, and she blessed not just her country, but our world. Honor, integrity, character, and wisdom. She was, I think, filled with them all.

What would our world look like if more world leaders simply and selflessly embraced their duty? What would our families and our communities look like if more of us, not royal at all, simply did the same?

For commoners like me, the etiquette regarding royal titles is a bit baffling. I believe Queen Elizabeth II was properly addressed as “Your Royal Majesty.” (Evidently, “Your Grace,” as the way of addressing the British monarch went out when the graceless Henry VIII decreed otherwise.)

Nonetheless, in this very memorable time, the week that Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral was held at Westminster Abbey, I find myself immensely thankful for . . . her grace.

You’re invited to visit my website at http://www.CurtisShelburne.com, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“Attitudes Are More Important Than Facts”

Knowing right from wrong is important; knowing when we’re right but wrong is a fruit of deeper wisdom.

It is, you see, frighteningly easy to be “correct” on an issue but to be very wrong indeed in attitude and thus inflict damage on our own souls and collateral damage on the souls around us.

Being “right” and being “good” are not necessarily the same things, but I like very much the words of the little girl who is purported to have prayed, “Oh, Lord, please make the bad people good and the good people nice.” Out of the mouth of a babe some serious wisdom!

Perhaps we could pray similarly, “Oh, Lord, please help us to learn, when we’re wrong, to recognize what is right, and then, we pray, when we’re right please help us not to be insufferable about it.”

If, by God’s grace and power, our souls are growing in love, humility, and grace—then perhaps we can stand being “correct” and not incur the soul-withering damage that Satan most often inflicts on very correct people.

Of course, the damage the enemy can inflict upon us when we’re wrong is real and consequential, too, but of a far less subtle sort.

A person who knows that a tomato is a fruit may well pass an exam in Botany 101, but if he tosses it into a fruit salad in his Culinary Arts class, he should be tossed out on his ear. Then, if he responds appropriately to the situation, he just might be in a position to actually gain some wisdom that’s worth more than raw knowledge.

All of this leads me to wonder: Does the worst spiritual damage occur when we are correct on the issue and wrong in our attitudes (a very popular approach cherished by Pharisees throughout all ages), or when we are wrong on the issue but still manage to keep mostly healthy attitudes? Or if we just go all in and embrace the wrong view of the issue and pair it with an arrogant, malignant attitude? A wretched trio of choices, these, and all of their attendant mixtures, no better.

Perhaps the answer and the soul-prognosis lie in how completely we surrender ourselves to the tasty and tempting elixir Satan offers regarding issues and attitudes, and how deeply we quaff its poison. We do well to ask for God’s help in guarding our attitudes, most particularly, I think, when we are so confident of our correctness that we allow humility’s guardrails to give way and fail. The only safe course is to be truly surrendered to our Lord’s will, not ours, and thus become each day more like him, free to be our truest and best selves.

This really is serious stuff. Look at our politics. How hard is it to find a politician—or a sycophant follower of said politician—who, whether or not correct on a particular issue, manages to spread his diseased attitude more quickly than a kindergartner spreads chickenpox? Peruse a social issue or two or twenty. Watch as a church or denomination “splits the sheet.” More important, look at your own life—beliefs, actions, and attitudes. Oh, we can be ever so “right” and still be terribly wrong.

No one can snuggle up to a skunk—even one with impeccable views on politics, social issues, and even Scripture—and not end up with a smell that is far more noticeable than any pristine viewpoint perfection.

George MacDonald said it succinctly long ago, and it’s still true: “Attitudes are more important than facts.” And he’s right on both that fact and that attitude.

You’re invited to visit my website at http://www.CurtisShelburne.com, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“A Man in Whom There Is No Guile”

In the first chapter of the Gospel of John, a chapter utterly amazing from its very first verse, we have, among much else, the story of Christ’s calling of his first disciples (apostles).

Two of them did some of the greatest work of their lives right then. Andrew went and told his brother Peter about Jesus and, literally, brought him to Christ, saying, “We have found the Messiah!” And when Jesus, on the next day, himself calls Philip (who was, like Andrew and Peter, from Bethsaida), Philip then summons Nathanael to come and meet Jesus.

Remember Nathanael’s reaction? “Really!? Do you mean to tell me that anything good can come out of Nazareth, that dump of a town?” (My paraphrase.) “Come and see,” replies Philip.

As Nathanael is approaching Jesus, I see Christ looking up, smiling, eyes twinkling, and I’m reminded again why the disciples not only loved the Lord, they liked him intensely.

“Look here,” he grins through the words, “a true son of Israel! A man in whom there is no deceit—not a false bone in his body!” (my paraphrase, along with NIV, The Message, etc.). Many older versions say, “A man in whom there is no guile.”

What a fine compliment from anyone about anyone, but Jesus himself is giving this one: “I tell you, friends, here comes someone who is utterly honest, open, true, trustworthy, and good as gold! What you see is what you get, and what you get is genuinely good.”

That’s what Jesus said long ago about Nathanael. And that’s what I tell you right now about my friend Allen Ketchersid. Anyone who knew Allen would agree.

Many of Allen’s family and friends came together today in Bloomington, Indiana, to thank God for the faith-filled life of our friend, who passed away completely unexpectedly on May 16.

The Ketchersid and Shelburne clans share some amazing ties, deep friendships, and a common allegiance. My dad was Allen’s father’s teacher. Allen’s father, Eddy, was my teacher. Eddy was actually living in our family’s home in Amarillo when my surprising birth (Mom was 42) meant that I needed his room and kicked him out.

Among our two clans, the number of years of professional Christian ministry (beginning with both “patriarchs”) amounts to over 300 years. (I know. At first, I didn’t believe that number myself, but I’ve done the math multiple times.) Add to that many more years of other church leadership, service, and ministry. The parallels and ties between the families are rather astounding, and, no surprise, we are dear friends.

I could go on. Life, real life, is about relationship, as Christ has taught us. What a blessing from God this relationship has been since before I was born.

Allen himself was one of the best men I have ever known—a fellow pastor, an incredibly esteemed colleague, an amazingly astute and wise leader. Utterly devoted to his Lord and his family, he was one of one of the best friends a person could ever have.

As I worked as a ministry “intern” with his father, we rode to college together. We laughed with each other and with each other’s siblings. We grew families, served churches, edited publications, and on I could go.

What a good man!

On the Monday that Allen died (a massive heart attack, it seems), his family and friends were in shock, but my wife and I drove, as planned, to Amarillo to attend a granddaughter’s kindergarten graduation planned for the next morning. (Oh, how Allen loved his grandchildren, too!)

I was driving to a grocery store, and I stopped behind a guy in a black SUV. On each corner of his back window, he’d carefully applied two decals (a matched set, I guess), each proclaiming in lewd words and stick figures (I apologize to you for this) his message to anyone following him: “____ U” and “____ It,” meaning the world, in general, I assume.

I wondered why anyone would go to such pains to show his hatred and disdain for everyone and everything. It angered me. Then saddened me. And I was already sad.

I don’t know what kind of wreckage that pathetic man in that SUV is leaving in his own life and the lives of everyone he touches. I can only imagine. And I guess he continues to spread it.

But I also know that people don’t have to live like that. As weak as we all often are, it is still possible to try every day to share love and friendship, truth and grace and mercy, and to honor the One who gave us the gift of life and hope by sharing that gift in a way that brings blessing and joy.

I know it’s possible. Allen did it.

Yes, you’d have liked him. A man as good as gold, not a false bone in his body.

You’re invited to visit my website at http://www.CurtisShelburne.com, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2022 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

A Confession of Unfaithful Behavior

I guess I’d better confess.

Before I do, may I just say that I thought I could live with the guilt. I tried to convince myself that the transgression was not particularly serious.

But now I feel unfaithful. I feel dirty. Like I need a shower.

It was Monday afternoon. I’m never at my best on Mondays. I was tired. I was out of town. Temptation is always harder to resist when you’re weary and miles from home.

Those are, of course, poor excuses. Want more? I’ve got plenty. But they all crumble.

Only one Person has ever lived a sinless life. He was, we’re told, “tempted, yet without sin.”

Answering those who charged that resisting temptation must have been easier for our Lord because of his divinity, C. S. Lewis said, basically, “Nonsense!” He explained that, if we want to know how truly strong a temptation is, the only way to find out is by resisting, not by giving in. And he wryly wondered how many of us have been seriously tempted to turn stones into bread.  

Nor, come to think of it, have I ever been tempted to toss myself off the top of any temple and expect angels to catch me, though I have changed our church steeple lights a time or a few. I figure I’ve gotten all the joy that job is likely to hold; I’m done. If you see me up there again, you’ll know it’s Satan who tempted me.

With regard to temptation, we are all incredibly ordinary, and I think I could prove it. Maybe this Sunday at church, we could just go around the room and let everyone stand in turn and confess his/her deepest, darkest, most shameful sin. (Be sure and come. You’d hate to miss this, and we’d love for you to have an opportunity to join us.)

I’ll betcha cappuccino to decaf that we’d start off holding our collective breaths in “reality TV” style voyeuristic anticipation, adrenaline sizzling through our veins. A preference for back pew real estate might finally make some sense: we’d likely expect the confessing to start up front. And I’ll bet that, long before the last person got to “share,” the whole thing would end up being pretty boring.

The real lesson we might learn—along with affirming the Apostle Paul’s indictment of humanity, “all have sinned”—is that we each fall prey to the worst (and most ludicrous) sin of all: we are so sinfully proud that we really fancy ourselves to be very advanced and particularly sinful sinners.

No, we’re not. We’re very ordinary people, spiritual rookies of the rankest sort, who fall to temptation stupidly, easily, quickly, often—and to the very same categories of temptation available since our first parents got snake-bit.

Uniquely tempted? Us!? Are you kidding? None of us is uniquely good at being bad.

So why do I feel so dirty? So small and, yes, unfaithful?

I can hardly look at my phone, but I reach over and put my hand on it gently. It has a fingerprint sensor. But, and here’s my sin—oh, the shame of it!—I fell to sin and to family peer pressure by . . . dare I say it? . . . ordering a phone with fruit on it. Why? Oh, why? I felt remorse even as I left the store!

Samsung’s Galaxy phones have never done me wrong. Sleek, svelte, graceful, and completely customizable, I’ve always loved them. But now I avert my eyes from my faithful phone, and I’m reading about and waiting for its replacement.

The new one has a black notch up on its forehead, kind of like an eye patch. I know. I should not make fun of its deformity. Or its boxiness. My old phone had curves; this one has a metal girdle. To silence it, you flip an actual toggle switch. (Will I need to wait for its vacuum tubes to warm up when I turn it on?)

The new phone comes with half the accessories my old phone did and obtaining them costs twice as much. In overt condescension, it assumes that I’m an idiot and hides most of its actual files.

As my eyes drop down to the fine phone I’m casting aside, my heart falls within me. I am a betrayer. Have I sold my soul, abandoned my principles, for that which is less than what I had? Oh, the shame!

Again the truth pierces my consciousness: faithless folks like me rarely trade up. Yes, and this is also true: the faithless are fickle. Would I be surprised to read my own words in, say, a year from now, snobbishly praising fruitish phones? Not at all, wretch that I am.

But stop. Breathe.

At least I’ve been forced to think more deeply (a few paragraphs above are actually quite serious) about the nature of temptation—and thence my need for grace (serious, for sure). That need is deep. The well of my Father’s mercy is infinitely deeper. And we can call on him at any time.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2021 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Mercy Received Should Also Be Mercy Given

  Some things never change. Most things, in fact. “In times like these,” said one wise man, “it helps to remember that there have always been times like these.” Yes, and people, too.

  While no one is absolutely one or the other, people here will always be by default basically cold people or warm people, institution people or “people” people, and, at heart, grace people or “law” people.

  I remember a Bible study at our church when we found ourselves discussing Jesus’ “Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector” (Luke 18:9-14). It’s short, pithy, and to the pointed point. A “respectable” toxically religious man stands praying “about himself,” thanking God that he is “not like other men,” sinners who fall far short of God’s mark. But a nearby (despised) tax collector won’t even lift his eyes to heaven but prays, “God have mercy on me, a sinner.” Jesus indicates that the latter pray-er is the one God approves.

  This was fresh on my mind as I was reading another of Ellis Peters’ delightful Cadfael Chronicles.

  Brother Cadfael is an old soldier/seafarer turned Benedictine monk in 12th-century England who often finds himself acting as a sort of ancient detective/CSI operative solving mysteries in the village of Shrewsbury and surrounding Shropshire. (Hmm. My Grandmother Key’s maiden name was Shropshire.)

  In one Cadfael story, a new parish priest has just been welcomed, but the welcome turns out to be premature. The fellow turns out to be a “law” person of the most ultra-conscientious, unbending, meticulously scrupulous—and odious—sort.

  I disagree pretty completely with the theology in the examples that follow, but that’s not the point; the attitude is the point.

  A child is born but so sickly that death is certainly coming soon. The priest is quickly sent for lest the child die unbaptized, but the priest is busy saying his prayers and refuses to be interrupted until he is finished with his holy observances. The child does die, unbaptized, and the priest then refuses to bury him in consecrated ground. He believes that he has no choice. (“Law” people never do.) He felt some sadness about it, but, no, no choice.

  A weak and pitiable woman makes another in a sad line of mistaken alliances, bears a child, and asks for absolution. The same priest refuses, won’t admit her to mass. She despairs and ends her life. What else could he have done? No choice, he thinks. She had choices and made the wrong ones all down the line. A shame, but . . .

  This priest stands not with his parishioners as a fellow struggler making his way through life and seeking to honor God even in the midst of human weakness. He is sure he is “not like other men,” completely dependent upon God’s grace. Sure that he needs little mercy, he has little to dispense. Too much grace and God’s holiness and justice will surely suffer, after all. (And if you think this man’s self-righteous arrogance is the property of any one religious group and not easy to find among any “flavor,” I think you’d be mistaken.)

  Some things never change. We meet this fellow and his kinsmen every day, maybe even under our own hats. Those who choose to live by “law” will die by it, religiously cruel. We would do well to ponder Jesus’ words: God desires “mercy and not sacrifice.” And when our Lord says that “the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath,” I’m betting he’s telling us not just about a law or two but teaching us an incredibly important principle about living meaningful lives, lives filled with blessing.

  When God walked this earth, he walked with us, full of grace.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2021 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

“Talking Dog for Sale: Five Dollars”

I’ve long ago forgotten where I found the tale I’m about to relate, but I like it. Personally, I very much doubt that it’s factual; it does, however, hold a lesson or two that are true indeed.

As the story goes, a fellow was walking down the street one day when he saw a hand-lettered sign in a yard: “Talking Dog: Five Dollars.”

Quite curious, the man walked up to the front door of the house and knocked. When an ordinary-looking fellow answered, the guy standing on the porch said, “Pardon me, sir, but I saw your sign. Are you kidding? You’ve got a talking dog? A dog you want to sell for five dollars!?”

“Yes,” the answer came back, “I do have a talking dog that I’d sell cheap. In fact, he’s out in his doghouse now. If you’d like, feel free to go on back and have a chat with him.”

So the fellow went out to the back yard, found the canine sitting calmly in the dog house, and rather sheepishly bent down and asked, “So . . . so you’re a talking dog?”

“That’s right,” came back the quick answer. “Yep, started talking when I was just a pup. Been talking ever since.”

“Wow, that’s something!” said the amazed man. “You must have had quite a life!”

“Oh, yes,” replied the dog in excellent, even cultured, English. “Yes, indeed. You see, when people discovered that I could talk, they made over me a great deal. In fact, at one point, years ago now, I spent several years as a CIA field operative. You can imagine what a great tool a talking dog would be in the spy game. Why, a talking dog who knows when to keep his mouth shut is better than the best electronic bug money could buy! Hard hours, though, and a tough element to work with. I was once on assignment for such a long time that I ended up losing my wife. She nuzzled up to a Basset hound and ran off with him while I was gone.”

After closing what had been a very interesting conversation and thanking the dog for his time, the man walked back to the porch and spoke again to the amazing beast’s owner.

“I still can hardly believe my ears. You’re right! He talks! That’s mystery enough, but why in the world would you be willing to part with a talking dog for just five dollars? Are you crazy!? You’d really sell that dog for five bucks?”

“Yeah, he talks,” the owner answered, “but I’d sell him. Why, you can’t believe half of what that dog says!”

Sometimes we expect too much. Sometimes, critical to a (very serious) fault, we focus too much on the flaws of those around us and fail to be properly grateful for the blessings they bring.

God’s children already have the Father’s love. Fully. Completely. Through his Son, we receive pardon. We are completely accepted, just as we are. Through his Spirit, we receive power and healing. It is our Father’s joy to help us become the best and truest selves he has created us to be and, yes, to become better than we are. But he could not possibly love us more than he already does, and he will never choose to love us less. And having received his grace, we become ever more gracious to those around us.

How sad and dangerous if we forget how much grace we’ve received! Then our spirits shrivel, we live in fear, and we morph into tyrants so hard to please that nothing and no one can meet our “standards.” Then what we breed in our families, coworkers, and associates (I don’t say “friends” because we won’t have any real friends) is not hope but despair.

When you hear a dog speaking the King’s English, you don’t waste time criticizing his grammar or running a background check to make sure he has his facts straight. You just thank God for such a wonder! Come to think of it, the humans God has put around us don’t have to be even nearly that wonder-full to bless us. If we’ve received grace ourselves, we might seriously consider passing some of it along.

I surely would like to talk to that dog.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2021 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.