Undo Send: What a Great Idea!

Don’t you wish you could take back some things you’ve said? You’ve probably seen the TV commercial about the group sitting around a table, completing a conversation with the boss via phone conference, and hitting the mute button to trash talk him. Just at that moment, a technician walks in to explain he is there to fix the broken mute key. Uh-oh! Bad career move! In real life this past week, five of us were around a table, completed a phone conference with a person, and thought we had ended and hung up. I was seated immediately in front of the speakerphone and made some comments to our group about him and our call. Then we heard his voice! “You guys may need to hang up on your end,” he said. “I seem to be having trouble disconnecting.” Maybe that’s why an online article from CNN caught my eye the next day. It was about a new feature called “Undo Send” that Google’s Gmail is developing. “Undo Send” is an option someone can enable on her Gmail account. When she composes an e-mail and hits the send button, an “Undo” button will pop onto the screen for five seconds. Clicking it retrieves the e-mail in draft form and lets the author correct spelling, edit content, or simply cancel the message altogether. Don’t you wish you had a feature like that on your tongue! I could have used it countless times to save myself embarrassment. To keep from offending. To just keep my big mouth shut – instead of firing back some angry or hateful line. But without an “Undo Send” button, it was hurled across that space between me and a friend or mate or stranger. And I was left to try to clean up the mess. I admit to having learned a few things from living. One of them has to do with the importance of putting a bridle on my tongue. For all the times I still talk when I should be listening, I’m actually better at it than I used to be. My mother used to tell me to count to ten before speaking. (She saw my need early. I seldom got past about three or four.) Then I grew up, got married, and had more adult responsibilities. I learned the hard way that she had given me some really good advice. Having to apologize and to recoup relationships (when possible!) over time finally taught me the value of restraint. As you get ready to begin a new week, think about the value “Undo Send” could have for your electronic communications. Make a firm resolve to use its verbal equivalent in your workplace, family, and church this week. And pray for God to give you the restraint to follow through with your commitment. If you claim to be religious but don’t control your tongue, you are fooling yourself, and your religion is worthless (James 1:26 NLT). By the way, just in case you were wondering, I said some really positive things about the fellow on the other end of that open phone line. Whew! About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

All Along, I Thought I Was Reading to Him

When is reading more than just reading? He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. … (Isaiah 40:11 NLT) My son was two years old. I often read one particular book to him, a child’s version of the parable of the lost sheep. You’re familiar with this story, right? It involves a shepherd who leaves ninety-nine sheep to look for one who has become lost. As an aside, that is not a logical choice to make, but it is God’s story, not mine. God usually tells stories quite differently than most of us would tell them! As usual, little Elijah was totally absorbed. The story and its accompanying illustrations had drawn him in again. But this time he was emotional. His chin quivered and his lips pouted. His eyes were moist and fixed. As we finished the part where the shepherd finds the lost sheep, Elijah reached for the picture. The sheep has fallen into a rocky place and clearly has a broken leg. The shepherd is about to bandage the wound. We looked at that image for a moment. I turned the page but Elijah turned it back. He wanted to look some more. We were quiet for a few moments. Then my son spoke. “Elijah sheep. Daddy shepherd.” And all along I thought I was reading the story to him. From Danny Sims blog. About the author: Danny Sims is the preaching minister at the Altamesa Church of Christ in Fort Worth, Texas, and a longtime Heartlight supporter and friend.

Sorry Rocks

What has repentance led you to change? “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” (Luke 3:8) Most weekdays, rocks arrive at Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park in Uluru, Australia. Some are nothing more than bits of gravel. Some weigh as much as 75 lbs. But rarely does a day go by without at least one. All of the rocks come from tourists to the park’s most famous attraction, the huge red sandstone formation called Uluru – better known as Ayers Rock. The stone, which in shifting light can seem to change color from reddish-orange to deep red, is considered sacred by the Anangu, the Aboriginal tribe that owns it. But over the years, tourists from all over the world have taken to chiseling out chunks of the holy site to keep as souvenirs of their visit. Recently, however, hearts have begun to change. Some return the rocks for superstitious reasons: one man included a note with his that said, “Please return to Uluru – six years’ bad luck is enough.” Others return rocks after gaining a new respect for aboriginal culture. One man, referring to the Australian government’s unwillingness to apologize to the Aborigines for the mistreatment they’ve suffered at the hands of whites, wrote, “Please return these rocks home as a symbol of one white man’s attempt to make amends for my people’s past.” His note went on, “Even if our leader is not sorry for what we have taken from you, I am.” Some simply write that they are motivated to send back their pieces of Uluru out of sadness and guilt. Whatever the reasons, dozens of boxes of “sorry rocks” now clutter the park office. Officials aren’t yet sure what they’ll do with them all, but they say they welcome them as evidence of a growing sensitivity to Aboriginal culture and a growing conviction that white people have been wrong in their treatment of Australia’s first inhabitants. Repentance is a tricky thing; a very personal act that often results in very public acts of contrition. Without the personal conviction of guilt and decision to make a change, any public acts of repentance are at best legalism and at worst hypocrisy. But, if personal conviction is not accompanied by observable action, then how real is it? “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance,” John the Baptist warned the crowds that came to hear him preach. “Don’t come here expecting a free pass from God’s imminent wrath, and don’t come waving your religiosity under God’s nose.” He demanded that greedy people begin to share, not just regret being greedy. He ordered tax collectors to stop collecting more than they should instead of just feeling guilty about their extravagant lifestyles. He told soldiers not to use their power to extort money – to be content with their pay. Repentance should motivate a change in behavior even if that change is inconvenient or uncomfortable. Anything less is not repentance at all. My fear is that repentance is such a religious, even liturgical word, that it no longer has any meaning outside the walls of a church building. We go to church, and at the appropriate time in the worship service, we feel sorry for our sins. Then we’re reassured of God’s grace and the efficacy of Christ’s work to forgive us. We rejoice and praise God, and then we go out unchanged to lives that look the same on Monday morning as they did the previous Saturday night. We celebrate God’s grace to the penitent, but perhaps we aren’t that penitent. Perhaps we’re just grateful to be able to pull a thin cloak of religion over secular lives for another week. The prodigal son came around because he was tired of being hungry and dirty and longed for his father’s house. Zaccheus was moved by Christ’s undeserved loved and acceptance. The thief on the cross saw his sinfulness in stark contrast with Christ’s innocence. Sometimes people are brought to repentance when their behavior hurts someone they love or when their lives are gutted by their sin. But however someone comes to repentance, there are always a few elements in common. There is stunning, crushing guilt and sorrow as the light of God’s holiness and love exposes our sins for what they are. There is a longing to have those sins removed, to be clean and pure and righteous again. And there is a resolve to put aside the sins that have caused us such regret and pain and to live differently. For such people God always has open arms. The Cross both calls us to repentance and sends us away forgiven. But, it’s never easy or neat or painless. Repentance is hard work. It is a discipline; basic training of the spirit that deconstructs our egos, tears us down and builds us up again. It forces us to take responsibility for our actions. It makes us confront our sins and decide between them and God. It makes it impossible for us to serve two masters; to turn and follow Christ is to leave our old lives behind. It is no coincidence that baptism is all at the same time the symbol for the death of the old life, the washing away of our sins, and the beginning of the new life. All of those moments converge at the point of repentance. If repentance has borne little fruit in your life, it might be time to ask yourself, “Why?” Why is your temper still just as unrestrained? Why do dishonesty and half-truth still characterize your speech? Why do you still hoard your possessions? Why do you still hold grudges against those who hurt you? Why do you still harbor prejudice? It is certainly true that the most penitent of us still sin, and that the hold of some sins on our lives is not easily or quickly broken. However, you should be able to point to some fruit that repentance has borne in your life, some way that repentance has made you different. New

A Tradition Like No Other

Do we have a Master’s tradition? The person who loves golf, particularly The Masters Golf Championship, will recognize those words as the Jim Nantz’ description of the CBS coverage of the tournament. For several years, the ads begin running in late February leading up to the first week in April when the greatest golfers in the world assemble in Augusta, Georgia, to compete in the greatest golf tournament in the world. The Masters Championship is not only a tradition in itself, but the tournament is full of traditions. The tournament traditions include the ceremonial legends of the game serving as honorary starters by teeing off early on the first day of the tournament. This year Arnold Palmer hit the first drive. Of course the green jacket is a tradition like no other. The fact that the tournament is often decided on the back nine on Sunday afternoon has become a tradition. Amen Corner is a tradition. The beauty of the azaleas and dogwoods is a tradition. Skipping the ball across the water on the 16th hole during practice rounds has become tradition that results in boos from the crowd if a golfer chooses not to participate. For many patrons, planting themselves by the 16th green or the 18th green is a tradition. Hearing Pat Summerall say, “CBS Sports proudly presents the Masters!” to introduce the broadcast is a tradition. Traditions are important in most areas of our lives. Our schools use traditions to build school spirit. There are winning traditions and losing traditions with sports teams. Families have food traditions, vacation traditions, holiday traditions, wedding traditions, anniversary traditions, and birthday traditions. Churches have traditions. Even those who vow to be non-traditional develop their own set of traditions. As best we can, we try to preserve our traditions. The Masters: a tradition like no other. You don’t mess with the traditions of the Masters. Those who run the tournament do all within their power to preserve the traditions of the Masters Tournament. Some traditions are easily accepted as traditions and can be changed or rejected or ignored with no risk of penalty. Then, there are those traditions worth fighting to preserve. When it comes to your life, what is the tradition that is like no other? Allow me to offer a suggestion based on what Jesus said: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and soul, and mind, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. When Jesus was asked what He considered as most important, this was His response (Matthew 22:34-40). These are often called “The Greatest Commands.” To adopt something like this as our “tradition like no other” will revolutionize our lives. Most of the traditions we hold onto will determine some of our direction and many of our actions. But to adopt “The Greatest Commands” as our greatest tradition, will alter the course of our futures. Nothing will be the same. These commands change how we treat people. They change how we think. They change how we worship. They change how we live. Now that’s a tradition like no other. Lord willing, I can look forward to the first weekend in April for years to come. I’ll look forward to watching the Masters and enjoy hearing Jim Nantz say, “The Masters, a tradition like no other.” Of greater importance, however, are the words of the Master that I hope to drive the course of my life, all the days of my life. A life of love lived for the Master. Now that’s truly “a tradition like no other!” About the author: Tom Norvell is the author of “A Norvell Note” — Thoughts and reflections on God, life, people, and living as a follower of Jesus. He has ministered with followers of Jesus for four decades and loves Jesus, his family, and those seeking Jesus, passionately.

Tuna Salad and the Rest of the Story

Most of them are wonderful human beings because someone gave them a leg up somewhere along the line, and they remember that. At least the good ones do. Over our 25 years, HEARTLIGHT.org has passed along the creative blessings of many famous authors who graciously shared their writing with our readers. This year as we celebrate “Shining the Light” for a quarter-century, we will highlight these special authors. Today, please enjoy one of Philip Gulley’s witty, folksy, and insightful stories. Paul Jr. wrote the introduction of one of my books. One day I was in Chicago on business with my friend, Stan. I remembered Paul Jr.’s address and decided to stop in to say hello and thank him for his help. It was lunchtime, so Paul Jr. invited us to stay and eat. “We’re having tuna salad sandwiches,” he said. “Is that okay?” My parents had taught me to eat what was put before me, so I said tuna salad was fine. Truthfully, tuna salad is not my favorite food, but since we hadn’t told him we were stopping by, I didn’t feel I should be picky. Stan said, “I really don’t care for tuna salad. Do you have anything else?” I wanted to slap him. Then Paul Jr. said, “We eat lunch with my mother and father, so we need to go next door.” I’ve listened to Paul Harvey on the radio all my life. (Few media people have been as well known and beloved for four decades as Paul Harvey. Listen below to a couple of classic and moving radio excerpts from November 1963, broadcasts concerning the assignation of President John F. Kennedy.) My father has listened to him for the past forty years. Now Stan and I were walking across his yard to have lunch with him! We went to the living room to wait for Mr. Harvey. There was a Bose Wave radio on the table. Mr. Harvey’s been telling us for years how wonderful they sound. Paul Jr. turned it on for me. We listened to a guy named Monty Vonny, or something like that. He’s not from these parts, so I’d never heard of him. The only Monty I knew was Monty Chadwick, who owned the Jiffy Carwash back in my hometown of Danville. But it was pretty music. I may save up and buy one of his CDs. Then Mr. Harvey walked into the room. He looked at me and said, “Well, I’ll be; Phil Gulley is standing in my living room. I can’t believe it!” I couldn’t believe it, either. I shook his hand and introduced him to Stan. “Is this the guy who doesn’t like tuna salad?” he asked, pointing to Stan. “The same,” I answered. Mr. Harvey asked me if I liked that Monty Vonny fellow. I told him I didn’t know; I’d never met him. Then I told him all about Monty Chadwick and the Jiffy Carwash. If Mr. Harvey ever comes to Danville, we’re going to take our cars there and get them washed. My treat, I told him. They’ve added a foaming brush that really gets the dirt off. Mr. Harvey said he’s looking forward to it. We ate in the breakfast nook just off their kitchen. Stan ate chicken salad and toasted cheese. I ate my tuna salad. They put three of those little tomatoes on my plate, but I didn’t eat them. Tomatoes make me burp, and I didn’t want to do that in front of Mr. Harvey. He told me how he got his start in radio. He is one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. After lunch, we sat around the table and visited awhile. Then it was time to go. They walked us out to our car. As we drove away, Stan turned to me and said, “I can’t believe we just ate lunch in Paul Harvey’s kitchen.” I said, “I can’t believe you told them you didn’t like tuna salad.” He said, “I can’t help it. I tell the truth without even thinking about it.” I told him it was obvious he wasn’t thinking. As famous as Mr. Harvey is, I wasn’t too nervous about meeting him. I’ve been around famous people before. I met Michael Landon back when he was Little Joe on Bonanza and came to Danville to give a speech on the courthouse lawn. I was six years old and remembered being mad he didn’t bring his horse. My cousin, Matt Griffith, once dated a beauty queen from Florida. She was Miss Navel Orange of 1972. He brought her to our house for a visit. She was wearing a sash and a crown topped with a gold-orange. She signed a Sunkist for me, but the next day my brother Glenn ate it for breakfast. Here’s what I learned about famous people. Most of them are wonderful human beings because someone gave them a leg up somewhere along the line, and they remember that. At least the good ones do. When Paul Harvey was fourteen years old, his teacher took him in hand and introduced him to the folks at the local radio station. Over half a century later, he remembers it still. None of us ever got anywhere except through the kindness of others. Sometimes we boast about being self-made, but that’s just a lie we tell ourselves to feel important. We’re all indebted to someone. Next time you’re driving by the house of someone who has done you a good turn, knock on his door and thank him. He’ll appreciate it. Who knows, you might even be offered a tuna salad sandwich. If you are, sit down and eat it. And be sure to put the napkin on your lap instead of tucking it into your shirt collar like my friend Stan did. Boy, I can’t take that guy anywhere. And, as Mr. Harvey so famously said, “Now you know the rest of the story!” Most of us who were alive on this fateful day

Deep Roots

What kind of legacy are we leaving for those around us? Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper (Psalms 1:1-3 KJV). Another tree fell at our church this week. Her name was Mrs. Virginia Beasley, known to her church family as Miss Beasley. For the past 15 years or so, I have sat behind Miss Beasley every Sunday at church. Her white hair has been the focal point of our side of the church. To me, her hair looked like soft, white cotton candy. I don’t know how she felt about it, but I thought it was beautiful. Miss Beasely was known as the candy and gum lady at church. She brought a baggie full of goodies every Sunday and passed it out to the children who sat around her little ones and very big ones. They loved her for it and I know they will miss her just like I will. What We Sometimes Forget I’m sure you probably have a Miss Beasley at your church, too. Someone who sits in the same spot every Sunday. Never misses a service. Loves people and children and sharing what they have with others. What we sometimes forget about these church members is that growing deep roots in our faith doesn’t guarantee an easy life and Miss Beasley didn’t have one. In 1996, Miss Beasley’s daughter, Jo, was taken from her home by someone she knew, driven to a barn and brutally murdered. It was the day before Jo’s birthday. As I sat behind Miss Beasley in church I often wondered how she got past that horrific event. I suspect that like most traumatic events in our lives she didn’t get past it, she just learned to live with it, but it had to have been incredibly hard. Miss Beasley had a necklace with her daughter’s picture on it that she wore frequently. One Sunday, I commented about what a good picture it was of Jo. Her eyes teared up, “Why don’t people ever talk about Jo?” She asked. “It’s like they don’t remember her.” That broke my heart. Of course we remember, but we were trying to spare Miss Beasley more pain, which seems foolish because a mother’s heart can’t know more pain than the death of a child. Even though others may never have mentioned Jo’s death, I know she never stopped thinking about it. In fact, the night Miss Beasley died was 2 days before the anniversary of Jo’s death. I’m sure she went to sleep thinking about her daughter. She died peacefully in her sleep, thus being spared reliving one more time the anniversary of her daughter’s death. The Difference One day last week, my son and I took his 8 year old daughter for a walk on our farm. We stopped to show my granddaughter one of the largest trees I have ever seen. It’s a huge old oak tree. This tree is so big that our arms won’t reach around it. Abby, my granddaughter, was fascinated with this old tree, so I snapped a picture of her hugging it. Now when I look at that picture, I am reminded of Miss Beasley and others like her. These great old souls didn’t waver when the storms of life came. The shadow the oak tree casts is huge. The sphere of influence that a strong Christian shares when they stay firmly rooted in their faith is even bigger and more influential. The hard thing about a large tree with deep roots is that when it falls, it leaves such an empty, vacant space. And every time we see that spot, we ache for the tree that was there. That’s how I feel with the empty spot where Miss Beasley used to sit. I ache for her presence and miss her. Yet the empty spot on the pew in front of me also serves as a reminder of two important realities: I need to continue growing deeper roots to be an influence for good and for God! God wants me to stay busy planting more trees and nurturing them to grow deep roots! I want to be able to proclaim like the old African American spiritual, “I Shall Not Be Moved!” Glory hallelujah, I shall not be moved,Anchored in Jehovah, I shall not be moved;Just like a tree that’s planted by the waters,I shall not be moved! In His love abiding, I shall not be moved,And in Him confiding, I shall not be moved;Just like the tree that’s planted by the water,I shall not be moved! I shall not be, I shall not be moved,I shall not be, I shall not be moved;Just like a tree that’s planted by the waterI shall not be moved! Follow these links for full lyrics or Johnny Cash YouTube video. About the author: Teresa is an accomplished author, speaker, mother, and grandmother. Teresa has been married to Bill for a lifetime of family, faith, and love. They are members of Pleasant Hill Church of Christ in Kentucky. They have 5 children and 4 grandchildren. Teresa is also the author of the popular women’s blog called “NanaHood”!

Jury Duty

When can a conviction lead to an acquittal? I had jury duty this week and was very happy that I was “excused and thanked” after one day of service. The case, on which I almost served, sounded like it would have been a frustrating and boring experience for me. We had all been questioned for a particular criminal trial and I was relieved when the jury was sworn in. Then, they decided that they needed to pick four alternate jurors. When I was seated in the box, I was hastily dismissed by the defense attorney. Believe me, I didn’t take it personally. I guess it was something that I said during my interviewing process. I certainly empathized with the attorneys in their effort to seek jurors who would perhaps be lenient toward their client. This experience reminded me of growing up with an attorney in the house – my father. Daddy, now age ninety-eight, finally retired from his law practice at age ninety-three, or thereabouts. He had been an attorney in private practice during the early part of his career. He was then appointed to the office of County Attorney of Grayson County, Texas. He was subsequently elected twice after that – serving for approximately twelve years. After his time in public office, my father returned to being a defense attorney. He has always joked that he was a “country lawyer,” but don’t let his modesty fool you. He has handled many cases in his long career – wills, estates, probates, taxes, divorces, and even a murder trial or two. He also used to joke about the first case that he ever handled – a divorce. He successfully got the divorce for his client, and right after that, they remarried each other again. My father served as an elder at church for thirty-nine years. It was remarkable that he not only handled that responsibility very well, but also his coinciding duties as County Attorney. My father had the reputation of being such a good attorney – defense or prosecution – that he could take either side of a case and still win. However, Daddy faced a difficult situation when he had to try a murder case. Without getting into a “hot button” issue, I’ll just tell you what he did because of his own moral, Christian convictions. My father’s job – as an elected official – was to convict the man accused of murder. However, because of his moral and religious feelings about this particular case, he didn’t believe in the death penalty. What was he to do? My father did his duty as a paid official and won the case – convicting the man of murder. He felt badly about it, called a local minister who then studied the Bible with the prisoner. The prisoner was then baptized into Christ. My father helped facilitate a conversion out of a conviction! It was a long time ago, and I don’t know whatever happened to the man after that. However, it’s a true story of a man who was not only convicted of murder, but also of his sins – a lesson that I’ll never forget for the rest of my life! I guess you could say that he had to face one jury that helped him avoid the ultimate jury. Truly, truly, I say to you, he who hears My word, and believes Him who sent Me, has eternal life, and does not come into judgment, but has passed out of death into life. (John 5:24 NAS) Now when they heard this, they were pierced to the heart, and said to Peter and the rest of the apostles, “Brethren, what shall we do?” Peter said to them, “Repent, and each of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off, as many as the Lord our God will call to Himself.” And with many other words he solemnly testified and kept on exhorting them, saying, “Be saved from this perverse generation!” So then, those who had received his word were baptized; and that day there were added about three thousand souls. (Acts 2:37-41) About the author: Katha’s small town upbringing in Sherman, Texas was slow paced, with loving parents, lots of down home cooking, and church attendance. Katha graduated from San Diego State University with a degree in English and continued graduate studies in English at Abilene Christian University. Katha was an editor at a publishing company and has done freelance for businesses as well as writing devotional articles for Power for Today. She and her husband have two grown children and a granddaughter. Katha enjoys reading, crocheting, yoga, and singing in groups and as a soloist.

Reclaiming Our Lost Identity

What does God do with those times in our lives we’d like to forget? V.R. Roskam of Wheaton, Illinois, visited Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, three years ago. He and his wife, Martha, were browsing at a souvenir stand. They spotted a wicker basket with a number of items – 37 as it turned out – that looked familiar. They were dog tags lost by U.S. soldiers during the 1960s and ’70s. Roskam, a 75-year-old Korean War veteran, knew immediately what he had to do. He bought them all. For the past three years now, he has been returning them to their rightful owners. So far he has tracked down nine, and he has personally gone to each one to present him his tags. As you might expect, this mission of respect has triggered powerful emotions in all the parties involved. Some people who served in Vietnam have spent decades now putting that chapter of life behind them. Others have been stuck in them and unable to move on. Many bear scars from that time – not only on their bodies but especially in their psyches. Denzil Messman lost his tag when he jumped from a helicopter into a firefight. He was still a teenager when it happened. The Roskams went to Jefferson, Texas, to return his small, thin piece of metal designed to tell a medic a wounded soldier’s blood type or, if he didn’t make it, a chaplain his faith. “This big burly guy just wept when he held it,” Martha Roskam said. “It’s kind of hard to explain,” said Messman, retired at 55 from the postal service. “Them dog tags is a piece of your person. They become you.” Another veteran who received his dog tag from the Roskams wrote them a touching note. “It has been 30-plus years since my return from South Vietnam,” said Regiland Gay, “and no one has said thank you!” Bad memories, good memories, things appreciated, things not, things you barely remember, things you’d give anything to forget – all are part of your life story. Some are whole chapters. Some short paragraphs. Some mere footnotes. One way to think of redemption is in terms of authentic human identity. God doesn’t want to sell you “fire insurance,” but to help you make sense of every step along the path we call life. So he celebrates triumphs, forgives failures, and gives hope for the future. He calls us into community for the sake of learning to treat one another as we would all like to be treated. And his kingdom is among us. You can’t change the past. You can’t un-ring a bell. You can’t recapture lost time. But you can trust God to work everything to the good of those who love him. We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28) About the author: Rubel Shelly preached for decades and served as a professor of medical ethics, Bible, and philosophy at multiple universities. He was a former president of Rochester College and Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Lipscomb University. He was the author of more than 30 books and hundreds of inspirational articles. His commitment to a non-sectarian presentation of the gospel touched countless lives.

There’s More to Come

It’s Friday, so how do you really feel about things? In the year 1815, Napoleon gathered his French forces at Waterloo to battle against the Duke of Wellington. Of course, history informs us that Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, but how did the people living in 1815 learn of the news? To carry the news of the Battle of Waterloo to England, an English ship signaled to a man on shore, who then relayed the word to a man on another hill, and so on across England. The first word that was signaled was “Wellington.” The next word that was signaled was “defeated.” Then a fog rolled in, and the message stopped. As you can image, all across England people wept and were disheartened by the two word message, “Wellington defeated.” But when the fog lifted, the message continued with two additional words, “the enemy.” Hope arose out of despair! Now here’s my point. What do you think the world and even the disciples of Jesus thought when they saw the events that transpired on the Friday of the crucifixion? But, Friday contained only a portion of the message. The rest of the message was shared on Sunday through an empty tomb. Hope arose out of despair! [Jesus] said to them, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered over to human hands. He will be killed, and after three days he will rise.” But they did not understand what he meant and were afraid to ask him about it (Mark 9:31-32 TNIV). About the author: Steve Higginbotham is a native of West Virginia. His father also preached. Steve serves the Karns Church of Christ in Knoxville, TN and is an instructor in the Southeast Institute of Biblical Studies and an editor for Think Magazine. Steve & Kim have four children, Kelli, Michael, Matthew, and Anne Marie.

There You Will See Him!

Can I really meet Jesus? Distant … faint … soft echoes … like the incessant drip of a faucet, barely audible, but maddening in the pre-twilight of sleeplessness. You want to ignore it … and can for a moment or two … but then it returns … relentlessly … nagging at something in your soul … making sleep impossible. And in grief, this incessant dripping is torturous … agonizing … and mocking. No one knew this better than the women. “And after three days … after three days … after three days …” Now what was it that he said? “After three days … … I will rise again?” No way. Just wishful thinking. Just the disconnection with reality deep grief brings. But, “after three days …” That’s what he had said, wasn’t it? Or did I imagine it? I think he said it when he talked about being rejected and slaughtered like a sheep at their hands. But, I didn’t really get that. But he did say something about “after three days,” didn’t he? Slowly, tortuously, the women made their way to the tomb while the men slept. They wouldn’t wake them because sleep had been hard to come by in their shock and grief and shame. But, who would roll back the stone for them? Moving into place was a one person job, but getting it out of the mouth of the tomb was a chore for three strong men. How could a small band of women perform this? Maybe the soldiers would be accommodating? Or maybe someone else would help, like the caretaker of the tombs? Slowly, tortuously, incessantly, they moved toward the tomb. The faint streaks of sunrise filtered through the clouds making a glowing edge on some of the clouds hanging low in the spring sky. Golds, oranges, reds, and browns blazed against the fading indigo of the moonless night sky. They couldn’t help but be struck by the strange parallel as they brought their oil and spices to anoint his body this last time. Some remembered the anointing just a few days before and remembered Jesus’ sweet words, “She has done a beautiful thing.” This would be the last beautiful thing they would do for him. This one, however, was much harder and bitterer, for by now, the body that had blessed others would carry the pungent odor of death and the awful bruises and spatters of the beating, the gouges from the scourging, the place where flesh had been penetrated and ripped by nails, and the rip in his side from the spear. They came to offer him their love one last time as the sun streaked its first rays over the distant horizon. But still, in the background noise of their hearts, the women heard a distant dripping … an incessant soft echo in their souls. Hadn’t he said something … promised something … something impossible, inconceivable, something … they could not quite recall. The next evening, when the Sabbath ended, Mary Magdalene and Salome and Mary the mother of James went out and purchased burial spices to put on Jesus’ body. Very early on Sunday morning, just at sunrise, they came to the tomb. On the way they were discussing who would roll the stone away from the entrance to the tomb. But when they arrived, they looked up and saw that the stone – a very large one – had already been rolled aside. So they entered the tomb, and there on the right sat a young man clothed in a white robe. The women were startled, but the angel said, “Do not be so surprised. You are looking for Jesus, the Nazarene, who was crucified. He isn’t here! He has been raised from the dead! Look, this is where they laid his body. Now go and give this message to his disciples, including Peter: Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you before he died!” (Mark 16:1-7 NLT) Astonishment, fear, and awe. That’s their reaction. While we know the rest of the story from the other gospels, Mark wants us to linger with them here in this moment of fearful and astonished awe. He wants us to pause for this awesome moment and hear the words of God’s messenger. Don’t be surprised – literally, “Don’t be afraid!”The Crucified One is not here, he has risen.He will meet you in Galilee! Those are the three words we also need to hear in our day. Don’t be afraid!Life is more than you can master. Life is fragile and will be crushed. You can’t hold it or preserve it or protect it. But don’t be afraid. But how? How can we not be afraid? He is not here, the Crucified One is risen.Jesus, who shared with us our every human struggle and bore with us every human strain and endured with us every human suffering, also suffered with us our very human death … at our own hands. He is the crucified one. There is no escaping that. But, look, the tomb is empty. Death couldn’t hold him. Satan couldn’t have him. The tomb couldn’t contain him. His enemies couldn’t crush him. He is risen. He is alive. He is … and was … is to come. Everything, everything, has changed … for us. He has gone ahead of you to Galilee and you will see him, just as he said.He said he would be rejected. He said he would be killed. And he said he would be … resurrected. Yes, he did say those things. Again and again he said those things. And they are true. They have happened, just as he said. So if what he said about those things is true, then the Galilee thing must be true, too. But why Galilee? Why not Jerusalem? Why not Mt. Sinai? Simple. Galilee is home. They will see him at home. He will be with them … at home! And