Vintage '45

Yes, I've been quiet for a while. Perhaps it has to do with my 45th birthday which came and went last Sunday. Actually, that's not the reason, but it's as good an excuse as any.

All in all, it was a good day, full of the ordinary moments which make life extraordinary. It began with every preacher's worst fear: oversleeping on church day. Having been in ministry more than half my life, I've set the Sunday alarm at least 1000 times. As best I can recall, this is the first time ever that I've overslept. But hey, what better way to begin your 45th birthday than with a rude awakening?

For once my recurring nightmare came true. I don't know if you have recurring nightmares, but I do. It's a pretty predictable plot: church is ready to begin, everyone is waiting, and I'm desperately seeking my shoes, or my shirt, or even my pants. "Wait! Just a minute! I'm not ready yet!" The panic is palpable as the clock ticks; I wake up in a cold sweat. I hate that dream. It may sound innocuous, but then it's not your nightmare, is it?

Anyway, no sooner had I gotten out of the shower and dressed when someone called to borrow our van. Seems a mix-up meant we had no means of transporting the trailer to our worship site (we're a brand new portable church). So while I'm hustling to get ready I'm stewing about how we're going to get all our equipment in three small vehicles and still open up on time. The nightmare continues.

All for naught, I find, for as I arrive I find virtually everything prepared. Nobody appeared stressed. I was pleased, impressed, and relieved. Usually works out that way. You'd think I'd learn....

Sunday's message was "God Forgives Me." It's one of my favorite things about God, maybe because I need it so much. But as I feverishly worked on it the previous night I was -- you guessed it -- stressed. It seemed pedantic and propositional, as if to prove the need for, basis of, and results of forgiveness. What was I trying to do? Present a case before a jury, or offer hope to sinners like myself?

Blecch. I'm sick of treating messages like theme papers. It comes so naturally; I was born and bred in modern expositional evangelicalism. When will I learn that forgiveness is less about clearing a slate, and more about restoring a relationship? Why breathe all the drama out if it by turning it into a lawroom debate? Why is St. Paul's argument in Romans 3 better than Jesus' story in Luke 15? (No lightning, please!)

It was too late to reimagine my whole message, so as I began to speak I did what you should never do: I said, "I don't really like this message, and here's why." I think (hope) you can get away with that once.

What astounds me about God's forgiveness is that he seems to get such a kick out of giving it away. If you doubt me, take a close look at Ephesians 1:4-7 and notice the words (written by, ahem, Paul), "in love," "his pleasure and will," "grace ... freely given," and "grace ... lavished." Love ... pleasure ... grace ... freely given ... lavished. Sounds like God is having way too much fun with this!

And he is. He doesn't fold his arms while Jesus pleads our case to him (apologies to St. Paul). "But you've got to let them go, Sir!" Jesus begs. "Okay, if I must." He glares at us as he pounds the gavel. "Not Guilty! You're lucky he's on your side," we imagine him saying to us. We walk out, free but shamed, our tail between our legs.

My goodness! What kind of picture is that? But it's the natural picture I have of my heavenly father and me. He loves me, but just barely. "Oh, you again?" I know he loves me unconditionally and forgives me fully, but we're not talking here about my head. It's my heart where I get things mixed up.

I just can't get over this forgiveness thing. It was apparently in place "before the foundation of the world" (Ephesians 1), before sin even happened! It's like God said to himself, "I want a canvass on which to paint my grace. I want it be magnificent, lavishly painted with extravagant colors. How shall I do it? I know: I'll make a world full people who'll need my grace in heavy doses."

Later the text says (4 times) that our greatest honor is to live "to the praise of his glorious grace." What is it that so magnificently demonstrates God's grace in our lives? Our sin and his forgiveness. "Look at this one," God says. "You should have seen him before I got hold of him. He was a liar, a cheat, a wife-beater, a real mess. He was -- and is -- a real grace project. I've never had so much fun!"

"Where sin abounded, grace super-abounded." God's having a lot more fun forgiving our sin than we religious-types like to think. At least that's what I think.

Anyway, my message didn't have any of this good stuff in it, so I had to figure out how to sneak it in at the last minute. It came out kind of convoluted, I'm sure, but I hope everyone (especially me) got the point: "God loves to forgive."

After church we invited people to our home for burgers and brats. We do it once a month in order to allow us to get to know one another, and our church a little better. Afterwards, I began, as usual, to talk. "I know we're just a small church," I said, "but...."

A person brand new to our church interrupted me: "Wait a minute. I don't think you know how good you are. You're an air freshener...." Everyone laughed, but he was right on target. We say we want to "cultivate contagious Christians who receive God's love and share it with others." We could just as well say we want to be air fresheners for the kingdom of God. Or, to put it in Bible terms, we want to carry the "aroma of Christ."

When will I stop selling God short in my life? I'm so quick to recognize God's grace in others, so slow to see it in myself. Thanks for the reminder, new friend. I'll gladly be God's air freshener, any day of the week.

We scurried from our home to my son's baseball game. Other parents knew of my birthday and had baked me some cookies. I appreciated their thoughtfulness. I thought of the ten years I've been attending or coaching my son's games, mostly with this small fraternity of friends. Together, we've cheered our guys to three state championships, and we're hoping for a fourth. "You were our son's first coach," she said, and I remembered those carefree days a lifetime ago." I may not have many more of these," I thought as I watched him take the mound in this, his senior year of high school.

I remembered handing him to a surgeon for three successive high risk surgeries when he was only three months old . "My child belongs to you, Lord," I said back then with glistening eyes. That was seventeen years ago. Today he was on the mound, healthy, confident, and really good at what he's doing. I was proud and grateful. Watching your son pitch on your birthday is not half bad.

The game ended and we made our way, famished, to Applebee's. My cell phone rang (my, how times have changed) and it was my daughter calling me from college. "Happy birthday, Daddy!" she said as only she can say. "Daddy" is the coolest word in the English language.

I ate potato skins and the usual: Santa Fe chicken salad. I've had it a hundred times, usually with my family, around a high top table in view of a television, often after a baseball game. Tonight we watched football. Despite my hopes, the best team won. Oh, yeah. I got a free dessert complete with an enthusiastic song.

Homeward, and an evening with the family playing Scrabble (which we quickly abandoned -- too much thinking) and Nerts (a favorite family game kind of like group solitaire on crack). It's the game I played when I fell in love with my wife, way back when we were sixteen. Sitting there next to my son and his girlfriend, both of whom are older than we were back then, I marveled at the passing of time and the grace of life. My, how time flies....

Late at night I sat at my computer trying to write some of the words you now read. But they seemed too ordinary, and I wanted to wax eloquent on such an auspicious occasion. Now, however, I realize there are no ordinary moments, for these are the moments, one by one, which make up that very extraordinary thing we call life.

All in all, a pretty outstanding day. I'm now a vintage '45. Happy birthday to me.