Across the Flow

Ok.  The baby pictured is my firstborn, delivered November 21, 1975, 12:28 pm.  A new friend of mine was a delivery nurse for 14 years before she married and moved to East Tennessee.  I told her the details surrounding this child’s appearance on planet Earth.  Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged.  This is the same kid who got his private pilot’s license at age 17? Yes.  He’s normal?  Uh, yeah, better than. Why?  He should be profoundly retarded if not dead. He must have been hung up by his shoulders.  Huh?  It was at that point I remembered asking the doctor in the delivery room, what would have happened 100 years ago in a covered wagon.  Without hesitation, "Dead.  Both of you in the same grave."  Gee, thanks, doc.  I’m really tired now.

(Son, you’ve heard the story before and I won’t carry on with all the details for several reasons, one being that your wife is looking forward to a pleasant delivery.  Jules, you’ll be fine. You know that.  I am extremely comfortable for you.  Mine was a rare experience and medical science has come a long way in 30 years.)

First child, 10 lb. 5 oz.  The hospital was in the midst of remodelling, meaning the labor room was a regular room, the delivery room was temporary–also in a regular room.  Fetal monitoring was new and commanded less respect than it does now.  Ultra sound, which would have shown the need for a C-section, was new and used only on high risk patients.  X-rays were not an option.  Having no negative history of my own or negative family history on either side, no diabetes, no heart problems, etc., no ultra sound was done.

I had gone to the childbirth classes, a modification of Lamaze, so I was determined and prepared to deliver without drugs.  The staff, including the doctors, quietly snorted enmasse:  "You’ll beg for drugs, honey (snigger, snigger)."  Little respect was shown in 1975 for the effort to deliver naturally.  The first 12 hours of labor were textbook according to the training.  The breathing techniques really did mask the pain of labor contractions to the point of NO ACTUAL PAIN,  only an intense squeezing sensation.  (There, I said it.) 

Twelve hours after the first sign of labor, 6:30 am, the doctor announced that full dilation had occured, and as soon as he sewed up a guy in the ER who got his arm caught in a snowblower, we were going to have a baby.  By the time the doctor realized the kid was too far through the canal for a safe C section, he had to deal with his being stuck.  Further details witheld.

I learned many years later that this child’s bulk saved him by keeping the placenta smooshed against the uterin wall and attached, allowing the necessary oxygen supply to continue during six hours of pushing, not six pushes.  Positioned anywhere other than next to his body, it would not have been held in place.  Being held up by his shoulders gave the doctor time to use, in Bill Cosby’s terms, the "salad spoons" twice, first the head, is-it-a-boy-or-a-girl-I-don’t-know-by-the-top-of-the-head, then the shoulders, to deliver my wonderful son who is now grown, married, and a daddy twice over.

So.  How old is the child in the picture?

Brenda, you’re too high.  Stan, you are too.  However, I feel validated by your participation.  Thank you.

I called Laurie, the delivery nurse, to give her a chance at a guess.  She was napping.  I talked to her husband, Tom, and he guessed.  WAY high, Tom.

There are some people for whom God has a calling and there is nothing that will stop Him.  My baby should have suffered severe brain damage were it not for Someone with better ideas.  I wonder, who in the lineage has a grand calling for the Kingdom?

Who, I ask you, Who, is in control? (woo-hoo, yay God!)

Some of my best inspiration comes to me when I am in the car.  There is no respectable pad of paper, not even a discarded bulletin on which I can write between the choir practice announcement and the reminder of the 55+ bingo party,  so I scratch something on the back of a deposit slip or gas receipt.  One subject I thought about stemmed from yesterday’s disorganized laundry day, a new reality show:  "Digging for Underwear While Hubby is Starting the Car ‘Cause We’re Late" or how about this one?  "Coffee Pot Graveyard, subtitled Will Anyone Buy a Carafe at a Yard Sale?"

I get to the computer and something else comes out of the keyboard.

In a recent phone conversation talking about Small Groups, I mentioned The Jesus People Movement of the late 60’s, early ’70s.  "Who?"  Read the 3 articles about its beginnings as well as its progress and current influence among us today.  Being a baby boomer, having been in Minneapolis during 1969 through 1972 and having been in the middle of a house church that exploded into a mega church downtown Minneapolis in 1971, I was stunned that knowledge of such a crazy ball of fire revival was now forgotten.  It was comparable to the Brownsville Revival about 9 or 10 years ago.  Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much chatter about that one in a while.  I guess I’ve answered my own question.  Were they just a pentecostal thing and therefore not noted seriously by the mainline?

Now there is a growing Small Group movement.  It’s softer, lower key, not a tidal wave among a particular group, but a new phyn pha phenomenon (I used to be the dictionary, now I need it!)  in all denominations and growing in a quiet, strong way–not a "flash in the pan", a term my mother used to describe Elvis Presley.  Boy, was she wrong.

I don’t diminish the Small Group growth in any way nor do I disrespect the powerful impact and thousands of saved souls from the two predominantly pentecostal movements mentioned.  Different strokes, y’know?  The Small Group of today was originally called the Cell Group about 8 years ago in that when attendance in each group reached 14, it was time to multiply like a cell into two groups, and so on.  Since 9/11 the word "Cell" is understandably gone.

I love the analogy from today’s sermon.  The Giant Redwoods trunks are massive, their height is incredible, but their root systems are shallow.  One would think the roots would reach downward in direct proportion to their height, but instead they grow laterally and intertwine with each other’s root systems so that one cannot be easily discerned from another’s.  They literally hold each other up, bonded, much like Christians reaching out to each other, linking arms, and bearing one another’s burdens as in Galations 6:2.

I think the current analogy for the Small Group would be that it is like a "grass roots" movement that will grow to become increasingly more like the redwoods, the holy, spotless bride that will be excitedly watching for Jesus’ return.  In the Small Group of a dozen or less, you can learn to trust each other with your deepest hurts and needs, feel free to participate in the study of scripture and ask questions, not have to worry about any structure except what the group decides on.   You can fellowship, study, pray, and am I the only one who sees a reflection of the early church that met in caves?  Get a copy of Mega Shift from my book list.

It’s these groups that will make the long haul, strengthening the believer into boldness when a world government makes public worship illegal and/or regulates religion into something unrecognizable to the true believer in Christ.  And when this comes to pass….

There will be an explosive revival of glorious proportions dwarfing the "teasers" we’ve seen in the last 100 plus years, a revival that will rock the socks off unbelievers world wide.  The whole world won’t be saved but those who ultimately reject Yeshua Messiah at that point will have a crystal clear understanding of exactly Who they are rejecting.

It’s rumbling oh, so softly in today’s homes around the world, in the Small Groups.

"It’s not about you."

I cleared that hurdle and here came the "purpose" concept.  When the light finally dawned, I realized that my Purpose cannot be confused with my Calling.  I’d gone back and forth until I was out of breath yakking about gifts and talents before I made that distinction.  Purpose is universal.  Callings are what He gives us to do.  Obedience is our response.

Whew.  What freedom to know that I don’t have to wait for angel appearances and trumpets.  Step One: I worship and pray.  Step Two:  I listen while I continue step one.  Step Three: Obey and continue with steps one and two. 

I carry with me a powerful statement from a preacher (whom I downright didn’t like). When I complained that "I don’t hear God’s voice" he replied "He knows how to speak to you."  And He has.  I can hear when I listen.

Church:  a noun, a verb, an adjective.  It’s a building, a denomination, a label, a group, a power as in "church and state."  We go to church, we are churched. 

Why do we go to the church building?  Because we are the church, as in the body of Christ.  Is it much deeper than that, or is it more self-centered?

This morning in the car we were listening to local talk radio, talking about whatever they were talking about, paused to listen again and then my mind started bouncing aimlessly off its little skull walls.  I came up with the greatest blog.  By the time we turned into the parking lot, my thought processes came and went like pixie dust.  Gone.  Father Time smacked me upside the head again.  Home now, let’s try again.

Churches.  Buildings are being burned in Alabama.  Whoever the pyro(s) are, they have failed in a possible attempt to slow down the progress of the church which is the body of Christ.  They have caused financial set-backs, they have hurt feelings in whole groups of people, and they, like the 9/11 terrorists, have fueled a resolve and ultimately strengthened instead of destroyed.

Immediately after the 9/11 attack, the churches were more populated.
Why?  Shortly after the Twin Towers’ dust settled, they were back to
pre-9/11 attendance.  Why?

Why do we attend church, the weekly event?  Habit?  Did Mama tell you you would go to hell if you didn’t?  Or do you love God and go to be fed?  And how are you fed?  How are your needs met?  Maybe the music touches your soul.  Or the eloquence of the prayers, the power of the sermon’s delivery, the hush that wraps you during communion?  Are you swept up with clapping and rythm or do you soak in the stillness among bowed heads? Are you more comfortable with solemn tradition or dancing  down the aisle, raising of hands and shouting Amen at the preacher’s presentation, or do you connect with the familiar liturgy? And if you don’t find what you want in one building on one Sunday (in the back row), do you go to another building the next Sunday, and then another and then another?  There’s nothing wrong with trying to find a personality fit;  it may even be necessary to your spirit.  But please visit more than once, maybe more than 6 or 8 Sundays before you hop to another one.

Two years ago our entire church, I mean, congregation, participated in a study of Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life.  Used to launch Small Groups, the ministry is thriving  and continues to grow.

Why do we as individuals exist?  Are we an accident?  What is each person’s purpose?  The first statement in chapter 1 is:  "It’s not about you." THUNDERCLAP!  Then who? What?  I come to church to have my soul fed, my needs met, and in the style and atmosphere of my choice and it’s not about ME??

It’s been two years since we read the book.  The church, I mean the organization, sent out at least a thousand  invitations to the community.  We had video presentations in church, I mean worship service, VHS tapes for the small groups, the book plus workbooks, key chains, memorization assignments, and signage all over the place.  I may need to refresh my memory on a few details but two things have stayed in the front of my mind from that whole experience.  They are….

1. The reason I exist is to worship my Creator.  It’s not about me.  Yeshua Messiah wants to be on the throne, not just in the room.  He earned the spot, He qualified.  I worship with the Body of believers in a building on a preset schedule, Sunday morning, but His Holy Spirit trains and molds me Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.  Alone with Him is where I am fed spinach, meat, and potatoes.  Sometimes I need to sit in the corner and reflect.   

2. I am to worship Him in spirit and in truth.  Notice I did not capitalize the word spirit.  For years I have interpreted this scripture to mean that I had to concentrate really hard in church, I mean, oh, you know what I mean–the service–until I felt I had connected with the Holy Spirit, you know, inspired, and then raising my hands in worship was supposed to be practically involuntary.

Shocker!  I am to worship Him in MY spirit, truthfully.  I am to reach out to Him.  I am not there to get, but to give from inside me.  The reason I go to the church building to meet with the church body is to join in worship of Yeshua, Messiah.

Once you have your priorities lined up, He meets all your needs and you are fed.