Holy Spirit Come

Holy Spirit Come

There is a generation of American young people that have walked away from the church. The generation above them has wondered why they would leave God.

The elder one says, “Those young people are too self-absorbed.”

          The younger says, “The church is old fashion, and immoveable. Why can’t it come along with the times?”

          The seniors grumble, “What they wear is so strange. Why do they dress so sloppy all the time?”

          “Church music is from the past.” The youth cry out. “People there are hypocritical, holier than thou, and hell bent on the rules. That’s right, I said, ‘Hell’”

          So, the younger generation left the church in droves.  Many of these young people fell into addictions, lived in the streets, and worried their parents to death.

          Though I was not one of the ones that left, I am a part of that generation. No, I’m not a millennial, I’m a baby boomer.  Many of those I speak of lost hope, and some their lives.

          Most churches stayed stubborn and insisted that only they knew the right way to live the Christian life. Surely, Jesus would want his children to wear ties and dresses to church. How could you have a service without an organ? If you sang songs with rock tunes, instead of hymns, you were courting Satan. And long hair on men? Never, in this church!

But I believe there were many parents of this generation that continued to pray. God inspired other individuals that cared more about loving with the love of Christ, then who was right about order of service.

That’s when it happened. Someone loved instead of arguing about stupid points on dress codes, rules, and who is correct about back word masking on rock music. One hippie received the love that was given. He opened himself up to a new life that spilled the glory of God to whoever stood next to him. He didn’t dress up. He used the music he knew and put words of truth to the notes. He kept his long hair and flower child ways.

He had gone into the world to find peace and love, and found it wanting. He realized his need for God. An explosion of revival ran a thick line through our rebellious generation and a whole new group emerged. The Jesus freaks. Soon others got on board. New music emerged. Some churches stayed the same, refusing to realize that God was about love, not judgment.  Many of these churches died with the generation that refused to give up their way of doing things.  

Now we have a new generation. Those of us still in the church say, “Those young people are too self-absorbed.”

          The younger says, “The church is old fashion, and immoveable. Why can’t it come along with the times?”

          The seniors grumbled. “What they wear is so strange. Why do they dress so casual all the time?”

          “Their music is from the past. People are hypocritical, holier than Thou, and hell bent on the rules. That’s right, I said, ‘Hell’”

          “The past? But we play contemporary music!”

          “If you’re in the 90’s”

Instead of the ungodly fashion of the day being long hair, now tattoos and piercings receive the brunt of our pointed fingers and laments of the evil world. So the younger generation has left the church in droves.

Okay, now it’s my generation’s time to pray, reach out, and be willing to change. No, we don’t have to agree with everything.  But we shouldn’t be condemning, and we need to listen. Many of these young people still believe in God but not how our churches have isolated themselves, sent out condemnations instead of hope, and turned to politics instead of coming alongside those that need our help, love, and compassion.

Let’s stop, back up the truck a little, and be ready to work on our own failings instead of rushing to point out their’s. Willing to get sweaty and hands dirty to do love, and be the hands of Christ.

Holy Spirit, come down as you did for the Jesus Freaks. Wash into the hearts of the generation that texts, knows they are special, and will carry on Your light to the following generation. Teach my generation to be open, listening, and willing to change, because it’s the Holy Spirit’s job to convict, God’s job to judge, and our job to love.

          

Contentment is Not in a Dog's Name

Contentment is Not in a Dog’s Name

            I have a tendency to want everyone to be happy. Often my attempts result in making no one happy. A case in point is our new puppy, an adorable Labradoodle. I agonized for months over a name for this awaited pup. It needed to be cute, meaningful, and definitely not one I would hear everywhere I went.  I wanted, more than anything for my whole family, and everyone else, to love the name. I was told, rightly, that our sons are grown and we should pick a name for ourselves. But I was not content with that.

            This may be the last dog we ever have, I told myself.  I remembered how the boys always joked about bringing our dogs, Max and Sophie, back to college with them. When coming home again, these two dogs met them with ecstatic wiggles of pure love.  To me our dogs were one more reason for them to want to come home.

            Now that Max has passed, and Sophie is on the older side, we wanted another dog. Here in lies the problem. After weeks of debating, with at first no interest from the boys because he would be a “doodle” not a full “Lab,” we had several names, but no consensus.  Erin, my daughter-in-law, helped with suggestions, too. But I could tell she tried to stay in Switzerland mode. The three young people liked, Ralph, with a maybe on Rigsby. I liked Rigsby but maybe not Ralph. My husband did not like either.

Out of the melee of names I jumped on one I thought we all approved of, Clyde. An, okay name, I thought, and my husband Jon quickly put it on Facebook, making it official.

            But no, apparently the only name that was perfect enough was Ralph.  So, the two names hit the air confusing the puppy, not one bit. He came to everyone.

            So, feeling I had been too hasty, I went back to the very first name we had discussed, the name Zathras. This is a character from the sci-fi series, Babylon 5, that we all seemed to like. I could not be content unless everyone was happy. I did another pole. Yes, the boys conceded the name was, okay. But to them he just looked like a Ralph. Erin thought Zathras was a cute name. Jon, sci-fi lover that he was, of course, loved it.

            A happy ending? No, because once again in my attempt to please everyone, no one is happy, least of all me. If you visit our house you will hear the names Zathras, Zath, Zat or Z, Ralph, Ralphie, Ralphy-Mc-ralpherson, or Ralphers . Our pastor weighed in and has called him Clyde. The boys have split the difference at times and called him Ralphras.

            Contentment is something you decide to have. It’s not something you fix into being. At the Covenant Heights women’s retreat in September one of the talks was on contentment. The speaker showed us that to have contentment we mustn’t give away our confidence with fear, not envy others in what we wish we could do, and especially not allowing what others say effect our contentment.

            When she said, “camp on it” I knew I had my sketch for the sermon. Camp your mind on contentment.  Stop running around trying to solve each lack, or give up on ourselves at every road block. Quit spending time wishing for better instead of holding on to the hope of what God has planned for us.

Timothy 6:6 “Godliness with contentment is great gain.”  

            Zathras, is the name of our dog. I love him, and I am content with his name, even if others disagree. I have confidence in our decision. When others call him Ralph I know they love him, and I will be content with that. Now on to housebreaking!

The Story

New Story

My son, Todd Spieker, preached in my home church a few weeks ago. Here is the gist of what he spoke on.

His topic was from Luke 9:23, “Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’”

Todd approached this from a unique point of view. We all have life stories.

The Roman’s story was about their great empire. They thought their book would never end. It did.

The Jews had their version of what a messiah was. This dated back to the Maccabees and a Jewish messiah that brought down the enemy and took back a nation. They thought if Jesus was The Messiah, His story should be that, too.

Others have the story that if you are rich then you are a blessed person. In other words being wealthy means that you are good. After all only good people are rewarded with wealth. If you are poor or disabled, there must be some sin in your past.

Then there are the stories many of us have. We make demands based on what we think are God given rights. The demands say I want, I need, I hope, I dream. My rights, and my ways are all that matters.

But Jesus asks us to join His narration. To let go, put down our little fables and pick up His story. In Jesus’ book He tells of an upside-down messiah. This messiah dies in humility at the hands of the enemy, and rises from the dead. His story says blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the earth.

Jesus asks us to give up our rights. Oh, yes, He does. He asks us to care for the alien, love the disenfranchised, and stand up for the marginalized. Even if these precious ones step all over our “rights” and befuddle us with the way they live their life.  

Jesus writes an epic novel. Read the chapter titles he has written for you: mercy, grace, adventure, and everlasting life. Lay down your life, pick up your cross, and join God’s story.