I’d Like to Buy a Comment

Meandering through Colossians, we completed exactly one fourth of the book in one month.  And with that same blistering pace and blazing speed, we have every intention of finishing the book in February.  We recognize that our faithful readers, fearful of offering the kinds of comments that are standard fare on sites like Pyromaniacs, refrain from excessive glad-handing.  And, all things considered, we appreciate that. 

BUT FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD, CAN’T YOU THINK OF ANYTHING TO SAY?!

There.  We said it.  We needed to, so we did.  Don’t feel like you can only comment if you found something to disagree with.  We don’t need our backs scratched, our ears tickled, our bellies rubbed, or our heads patted.  But we would love to have folks add to the conversation.  We love to discuss Scripture, and we are pretty sure that you all do as well.  Might take some effort on your part, but we’re confident that you can do it.  Just keep on baby-stepping.  We’ll never give up hope.

Something Serious, Seriously

We’re usually serious about what we write, even when what we write isn’t serious.  But this month, we are getting serious about being serious.  Seriously.

This month, the JackHammers turn to Hammered Dulcimers.  The chords all taken from the book of Colossians.  Serious melody, and occassional harmony.  Pounding out the issues and hammering the finer points.  We want a better understanding of the Word, and we find Colossians more than appropriate to our age.  We won’t promise to leave our favorite whipping boys alone.  But we’ll be sure to let the Book of Colossians lead the way. 

Come along with us, then.  Get out your notebooks, your rulers, your ink pens, and your flourescent pink and yellow highlighter pens.  A journey to Colosse, all January long.  And Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Fundamental Fiction

Whatever happened to all those Reese Cups at Pastor’s School?  When did Fundamentalists start into Logic?  Did you hear about the Pastor who ran out of hair spray?

Check out our blog all this month, as we tackle the truly tough questions facing Fundamentalism today.  Fundamental Fiction, we call it.  Sappy stories saturated with supple scraps of syruppy serendippity.  Tall tales tossed through with trite traits and turbulent talk.  Amusing anecdotes analyzing absurd adventures at altogether awesome activities.  Laughable legends languishing for loud ladies, ludicrous lads, and lolololol moments (sorry, couldn’t get an “L” word for that one). 

Anyhow, you get the picture.  We’ve got never-before-told true behind-the-scenes stories that will make you choke, and perhaps throw up in your mouth.  Hang tite and stay tuned while we parade out a plethora of plain parables pulling pieces of plot from particular places. 

Oh yeh!  Almost forgot — we’ve got some great activity ideas for y’all too.  All you’ll need is a two liter of Mountain Dew, a handful of Snicker bars, and a very clean toilet.  We feel certain that you won’t want to miss it!

The Swinging Scripturalists

Is the correct view of inspiration really that hard to figure out?  I don’t think so.  So what’s gone wrong?  Here’s what I think.

You’ve got one side that believes in inerrancy only in the autographa, only in those manuscripts originally etched by holy men of God.  They think there are errors in what we have today without any hope of discerning what all the Words of Scripture are.  That doesn’t represent what we see taught in Scripture and it leaves us without full certainty in God’s Word.  Authority comes in shades of gray.  This view comes across like it’s the position of scholarship, the real brainiacs, some very deep thinkers.  They just can’t wrap their faith around the promises of God, but, instead, men like Metzger have wrapped them around their little fingers.  Heavy hitting institutions like Bob Jones and mainstream publishers push the critical text and modern versions.

If you say that you believe that we have all the Words of God in the languages in which they were written, and you base that upon the promises of Scripture about the Bible, they call you a hyper fundamentalist, not worth considering in any other theological point.  If you comment on some other subject, they’ll likely delete your comment.  You’re not welcome to the adult table.  You’ve got to eat at the little picnic table out back with the other children.  You’re now very near or already a laughingstock.  Everything else you say will be treated like a creationist at an evolution conference.

On the other side, you’ve got the people who are stronger on the Bible than the Bible is on itself.   There are others on this side that are pretty much right where the Bible is about the Bible, but they fight against others that are also right where the Bible is, so that they will stay in good standing with those who are stronger than the Bible itself.  For instance, some of these believe that God inspired the English words of the King James Version in addition to having inspired the Hebrew and Greek words of the original manuscripts.

Others take the strongest possible view of the Providence of God by saying that God superintended the translation work in something less than inspiration, but something so close to inspiration that every single word was exactly what God wanted.  He didn’t want “assembly” but “church.”  He didn’t want “immerse” but “baptize.”  He didn’t want “lampstands” but “candlesticks.”  Even the italicized words are exactly the ones God wanted.  And so on.   If you don’t believe that strongly, then to them you just don’t believe in the Providence of God.  You know that Scriptural teaching of the Providential Perfect Translation of the Bible into English view, right?  Hezekiah or 2nd Maccabees, I think.

If you say that you don’t believe that the King James Version was inspired like the original manuscripts, they pounce all over you because you don’t believe that the King James Version was inspired.   You begin to explain, but it’s too late.  You’re weak and defensive.  They are much stronger critics of you, if you believe in the perfect preservation of the inspired Hebrew and Greek words, than they are of Gail Riplinger for her quacky, wacky, and unscriptural views.  There’s no doubt to them on whose side the Rippler is on, but you’re suddenly losing your King James credentials if you say something that sort of sniffs of something less than an inspired King James.  She at least has a Bible, but you; well, snort.  These Ruckman and Riplinger enablers do more damage than good.

I’m tired of playing this game.  I’d like to say that I’m done playing it.  I don’t want to play it any more.  The only thing that tells me that I’ll keep playing it is that there are far, far more on both sides of the swing than there are those with their feet planted on the ground.  You’ve got to play the game even a little just to have a conversation.

The first side will barely to never even deal with your arguments.  The latter side might deal with your arguments.  I think a few of them do.   However, they confuse the issue by not pointing out certain obvious points.  Usually the first side will say, “Oh, I believe in preservation of Scripture.”  The second side will say, “Oh, I don’t believe in double inspiration.”  The first side are no Bart Ehrmans.  The second side are no Peter Ruckmans.  That’s balance for you.

However, you can’t believe in preservation of Scripture and also believe that we aren’t sure what all the words are, at least based on what the Bible itself teaches about preservation.  And you can’t say that you don’t believe in double inspiration when you will not differentiate between inspired original manuscripts and an inspired English translation.  If you believe in double inspiration, then you don’t believe in inspiration at all.  And if you don’t believe in perfect preservation, then you deny what Scripture teaches about itself.  And if you believe in double inspiration, then you also deny what the Bible says about itself.

On the former side, you’ve got to continue with that position if you want any credibility with Bob Jones and its orbit and with the conservative evangelicals.  If you want to be invited to speak at the national leadership conference or the Fundamental Baptist Fellowship meeting, then you better find the critical text to have some appeal.  On the latter side, if you want to get in the Sword of the Lord line-up or receive kudos from most revivalists, you’d better not try to “correct the King James.”

I’m afraid that politics continues to plague fundamentalism.  We can barely discuss the Bible anymore without the pressure of politics.  You feel the start of a cold shoulder coming or the beginnings of a whisper campaign.

With me could you just say you’d like to stop the swing, because you’d like to get off?  I don’t care if you say I’m a fideist.  Oh well if I’m kicked off Sharper Iron.  Too bad if Central or Andy Naselli won’t post my comment.   Or if Maranatha won’t put my two books in their library.  I’m not going to keep trying to defend my belief in the continued inspiration of what God perfectly preserved to people who either are or need to remain cozy with English inspirationists or preservationists.   I don’t want to swing any more….even if you push.

Do We Really Want Revival?

We really don’t want revival.

That is, if it looks anything like we’ve seen in the recent past.  We could do without any more of that, thank you.  We’ve had enough already!  In fact, we would say that we’re all Revivaled Out when it comes to that stuff.  Revivalism (the profane worship of revival) has had a good run, but its time to hang up the cleats, really.  Revivalism did miles and miles on the treadmill.  We are no doubt impressed with the ground covered on that rubber track.  We notice that the tread has run thin, and the wheels are about worn out.  And that is why we urge Revivalism to unlace the running shoes.  You run much… too much, really.  But you cover little ground.

Do we need revival?  Well, that is an entirely different question.  Yes, we really need revival.  We just don’t need any more of what we’ve been having.  Sorta like the drunk who gets the swine flu.  His doctor tells him that he needs medicine, and gives him a prescription.  But the drunk only has a few bucks left, and so he just goes and gets himself a bottle of booze.  After all, who needs medicine. Besides, the booze makes him feel better.  We might need revival.  But we surely don’t want it.  After all, it can be pretty bitter.

Which reminds me.  What’s the big deal with the swine flu, anyhow?  Congress has had it for decades now.  Why didn’t anyone make a big deal about it until we passed it down to Mexico?

Revival, or revivalism.  All month, right here at JackHammer.

Givin’ y’all the medicine thet ya be needin’!

Invasion of the Friend-Makers

We want to be your friend. No, really! We do. We want to be your friend, because then you’ll have to be our friend, and we want to have lots of friends. In fact, we want 6,529 friends. And more. So, check out our status. We were happy three hours ago, and contemplative ten hours ago. We’ll be updating our status to depressed if you don’t poke us at least once in the next half hour. And we might get down-right angry if we don’t get five more friends before the next time we update our profile (which should be every ten minutes for the next few weeks).

We’re delving into the Fake world of virtual friendships, also known as Facebook. Or My Space. Social Networking, 101. That is the target. We’ve got a Christian Worldview, and we’re not afraid to use it. On the Internet, for that matter. So hold on to your profile, because we’re gonna plaster some walls during the next month.

JackHammer hammers the Social Networks. Comin’ right up.

Kewl!

Banned in Blogdom

I hate to cause any diversion from the great topic at hand, and I certainly have no desire to take away from the tremendous first two posts on this issue.  But, I also have some unfinished business that really must be taken care of, and so, without further delay…

During the last month that we blogged, we did a sort of biographical month.  Jeff gave us all questions to answer… really deep, probing questions, too.  I was sorta embarrassed by a few of them.  But, I answered anyway.  Then, Kent gave his perspective on Jeff and I — I really blushed when I read those.  And finally, I made fun of Jeff.  I’m sure that if he ever gets it, he’ll be blushing.  But we’ll have to wait for him to think it over.

But, I never got to Kent.  And I have wanted to.  I need to, really.  I started to, back at the end of December.  But some very pressing duties combined with my rather foggy brain, hung-over as it was with cookies, candy, and Christmas vacation, simply prevented my completing the process.  In fact, those very same pressing duties have prevented me from even touching a blog over the past 4-5 weeks.  Today is my first day back at “Blog Central” (the place in my office where I do all this wonderful blogging), and so I want to dedicate today’s piece to my friend Kent.

Kent has already told you the story of our first meeting.  Whatever he says about it, I will admit that I didn’t even notice him being there (when it is time to preach, I get a bad case of tunnel vision anyway), until during the lunch time afterwards.  As I recall, his youngest sat in a high chair next to my oldest (also in a high chair), and we had a very nice time at the table.  I suppose that if I had realized that the balding guy with the baby was THE Kent Brandenburg, I probably would have acted differently at the time, but I didn’t know half the people at that meeting, and I’m not an outgoing guy.  Not at all.  So, I just enjoyed the talk.  Whatever Kent might have seen, I looked across that table, and I saw a friend.

And that is exactly what Kent has been to me throughout these years since then.  When Pastor Short died, Kent flew here for the funeral.  He couldn’t stop crying long enough to talk much then.  Later, he flew out here again to preach for me, and we enjoyed sitting up late discussing, debating, and in general growing acquainted.  And, Kent was a friend.  Many, many times, too many times really, I have picked up the phone to dial his number.  Sometimes it was important.  Sometimes I needed advice in a desparate way.  Other times, it was less urgent, but still important to me.  Always, Kent is there to give the help, the nudge, the encouragement, and even, at times, the kick in the pants, the cuff upside the head, or the stinging rebuke that was needed.

No doubt there are readers of this blog who see Kent as a theologue.  No doubt some consider him to be a braniac.  Probably we have a reader or three who think of him as a crank.  To some, he is an extremist.  To others, a hard-liner.  I would be surprised if some of our readers didn’t associate him very closely with the mascot for our President’s party.  Kent is a strong man, a godly man, a true pastor, an expert exegete, a faithful preacher, a father and a husband and a brother in Christ.  But all who read this post should understand that above all else, Kent is a friend.

Will he always say what you want to hear?  Emphatically not.  Will you always like the “friendship” he extends your way?  No, not really.  Will you feel warm and fuzzy feelings towards him all the time?  I think not.  Kent is not the kind of friend that you make on MySpace or on Facebook.  He’s not a friend for the Socially Unfulfilled.  He’s no make-believe friend.  He won’t be leaving comments on your wall to the tune of “you’re so kewl.”  Kent is not a virtual friend.  He is a real-life friend.  The kind that will cry because you are suffering.  The kind that will rejoice because you are rejoicing.  The kind that will listen when you call, will help you when you stumble, will rebuke you when you need it most, and will extend a helping hand when you need that too.

I have stayed in Kent’s home.  I have observed his family.  I have been in his church.  I know his staff.  Kent understands and practices the grace of hospitality.  He is a good host.  He has a very gracious wife, and a couple of the best kids you’ll ever meet (at least in the daughter department).  His home is well-run, his children well-mannered.  I watched as his kids woke up early and started practicing their music.  For the first two hours of the morning, the Brandenburg house sounds like Carnegie hall ten minutes before the Symphony.  Kent has established a well-ordered home.

In this day and age, it seems like most pastors are either doctrinally sound or manly, but never both.  Not so with Kent.  He’ll run you over on the basketball court, and then call the foul on you.  He’s a man’s man when it comes to athletics.  He throws his whole heart and soul into whatever he is doing.  But he isn’t just a man on the athletic field.  He understands that manliness is spiritual, and he is spiritual in a manly way.  He takes a strong stand, and never apologizes until he sees that he was wrong.  I like that about Kent.

There have been plenty of times that Kent and I have disagreed.  Publicly, in fact.  Often, we have done so on purpose.  We both hold our convictions very strongly, and yet, we have a mutual respect for one another.  I suppose that if you are looking for a connection between this post and the month’s theme, this is it.  We both strive to take our stands on defensible ground, with a strong Scriptural basis for all our beliefs and practices.  There are times when we take very different stands.  One of the goals of this blog has been to model a Biblical approach to doctrinal debate.  We desire to show the world that these issues can be debated, and debated passionately, without there being a wounded friendship in the end.  We hope that we are succeeding in this.

But that brings up another point about Kent.  Like iron, Kent sharpens those around him.  Anyone who has debated Kent understands the need to “bring your A-game.”  That is why Phil Johnson won’t touch him.  I still remember that promise, made so very long ago, that Phil made to Kent — I’m gonna debate you (said Phil), and when I do, you’ll need to bring your A-game.  That’s what Phil said.  Somehow, I’m thinking that in the ensuing days, Phil realized that Kent only brings his A-game.  And, maybe, Phil decided that his own A-game had “left the building.”  Who knows?

Kent is a tough debater.  As one who has gone more than a few rounds with Kent, I should know.  Kent doesn’t shadow box.  He never heard of 50%.  Kent is a model of Biblical tenacity.  And, as a result, Kent has gotten himself banned.  Banned at Sharper Iron.  Banned by Frank Turk.  Banned at PyroMeaniacs.  Banned in Blogdom.  I understand their strategy.  If you can’t beat Kent, silence him.  They have put him out of their Synagogues.  They think they have done God a service.  They can’t bear to debate him, and so they gag him instead.  And, if you have no other reason to admire Kent, that should be reason enough.

GONE

This is a test, only a test.

Your regular programming will be back on February 1, 2009.

Gilded Not

Mark Twain labeled the period in the United States right after the Civil War, “the Gilded Age,” an obvious contrast with “the Golden Age,” as gilding is only a thin layer of gold coloring over baser metal.  Gilding isn’t really gold; it’s just meant to look like it.  In a pejorative sense, Twain characterized the people and culture as only or mainly surface.

In the same gilded sense as this Twain saying applies to an individual—he is surface personality.  The surface personality is big on the gilding, but below the surface, he’s fool’s gold.  You’re not really getting anything if most of what you get is on the surface.  It’s just very shiny wrapping paper and a nice box.  If Mark Twain’s characterization of an era was written about one person, it wouldn’t be Jeff Voegtlin.  I’d like to tell you why.

Hello Fairhaven

Jeff grew up at Fairhaven Baptist Church.  His dad, Roger, organized Fairhaven as a church in 1970 and Jeff was born in 1970.  I met Jeff on the first substantial occasion I had spent at Fairhaven, when they invited me to preach at their sports banquet around 10 years ago.  Before that, I knew very little of Fairhaven.  I had heard Pastor Voegtlin preach twice that I could remember, both while I was in high school.  My only and immature memory was his very grey hair and his Chicago accent.

My very ambiguous impression of Fairhaven was that it was a Hyles’ church.  I can’t even remember why I thought that, except for a bundle of miniature reflections and probably its associations.  In 1989 I took a trip down the steep hill to our church mailbox, pulled out the fundamentalist newspaper Biblical Evangelist, and as I walked back up the gravel driveway, I started reading the article, “The Saddest Story,” by Robert Sumner.  Shortly after that rude awakening, I accumulated much other information on the subject of Jack Hyles, including ordering the tape of a marathon sermon about Hyles by Dr. Roger Voegtlin.  I listened to it a couple of times.

Getting to Know

I wasn’t a big Biblical Evangelist fan, even though I found some of the articles and printed sermons interesting most of the time.  Because of an already long-running feud between Sumner and Hyles, I didn’t gain a huge appreciation for the Biblical Evangelist.   Don’t get me wrong—the uncovering of the Hyles’ story helped me very much.  However, the first prominent leader in the country that I recall taking a stand against Hyles, and in no uncertain terms, was Roger Voegtlin in that sermon I believe was entitled, “Why I am not 100% for Jack Hyles.”  That probably got my attention more than anything on the plus side for Fairhaven.  I was happy about what I heard on that tape.

Later our church agreed to have a Fairhaven singing group come to our church.  This might seem like a small thing to some, but it isn’t to me—the boys looked and acted like men and the girls like women.  I had already seen a trend among groups from other colleges that didn’t send that same message.  I liked the young people in the group.  I didn’t get the sense of phoniness from them.  One of the students in the first group was Roger Voegtlin’s oldest daughter, Becky, and another, Dan Armacost, who is now the college dean of students and teaches the biblical languages.

After a few college group visits to our church and one from Roger Voegtlin himself, Dr. Voegtlin invited me to preach at the sports banquet and then a few days of chapel.  I still wasn’t sure about Fairhaven at that point.  I fully expected to have a chorus of shouting preacher boys and spastic Bible waving while I preached.  It didn’t happen.  I didn’t experience anything close to the wild eyed foaming at the mouth that I thought I might get.  They wanted the Word that was preached, and they seemed to sit and think about it.

Traits

Through my years, I have been around and very closely to many big-named preachers.  Of all of them that I have ever spent time with, none has matched Roger Voegtlin in meekness.  He puts on zero airs about himself.  Nothing is contrived.  He’s just a regular guy in person, not at all attempting to impress anybody.  He’s almost always self-depreciating in a genuine way.  I will never forget one of the times he came to preach that I drove him to the airport in our church van so he could pick up his rental car.  I got a severe flat tire in a torrential rain storm, requiring me to take off the old tire and put on the spare.  He pulled in right behind me in his rental car and we were both sopped to the bone with water all the way through our Sunday best in changing that tire.  He showed zero impatience during the entire endeavor, despite my lack of experience at even finding the jack.

Jeff has this identical trait.  He possesses the attitude of a disciple—a learner.  As much as he knows and with his academic reputation, now a EdD he earned recently at BJU, he exhibits a hunger to know the Bible better and for his Christianity to be real with him.  From many conversations at Fairhaven now through the years, I know that people think that he and I get along because we’re both the deep-thinking type.  I smile when I think about it.  I don’t think it is true.  I believe we get along so well because Jeff’s hunger to know the scriptures better.  He’s not content with surface explanations for belief and practice.

I see in scripture that “learning” is what disciples do.  The noun “disciple” (mathetes) has at its root “learning” (manthano).  We never stop learning from Jesus because we always keep following Him as one of His disciples.  My experience with Jeff is that he is always trying to learn something else that relates to His walk with Christ.  I’ve not found him ever too proud to find a truth that he doesn’t know.  He is willing to learn from anyone.

Even though Jeff has been tagged with this moniker, “he thinks too much,” that he himself has somewhat embraced, I believe tongue-in-cheek, I don’t believe it.  I reject that he thinks too much.  It misses the mark as an evaluation of him.  This judgment was made about him as a reaction early on, was labeled as a personality trait, was propagated and repeated, and then it stuck as his identifying mark.  I’ve never thought it was true about him.

No doubt Jeff is much a product of his childhood training and education.  I know he was encouraged to read a lot when he was child, so he could develop skills for discerning what was right and wrong or truth and error.  His parents raised him to be the thinker that now is sometimes his scorn.  That developed a pattern of asking questions.  Jeff wants reasons.  He wants to know what God’s mind is on matters.  It is during these times during which he probes for an explanation that he hears the “think too much” label again.  To some degree, “think too much” says “be quiet and just accept what you’re being told.”

Sometimes we do need to stay silent and just follow leadership.  Many times, however, we need at least a little more than that.  We also should understand why it is we do what we do with more than “that’s the way we do it” or “that’s the method that’s worked.”  Jeff has recognized for himself and other young separatists that development of convictions from personal knowledge of God’s Word will stand the tests of time.   Not having these explains why many young fundamentalists push the eject button on separatism.  What the Bible teaches is practical.  Scripture always presents the truth and always reveals the best way to do things.  Biblical beliefs and practices do better under scrutiny.  We do not do them harm by seeking them with a whole heart.

Below the Surface

Symptomatic of Jeff’s desires beyond or below a gilded surface of scripture is his desire to unfold God’s Word through expository preaching.  He is content with stepping behind the Bible so that the text of scripture will make the point of doctrine or practice.  He has been willing to struggle in his development as an expositor to preach the whole counsel of God.  His studiousness and thoughtfulness motivated us to have him to our church a few years ago as the main speaker for our learning conference, a means by which we especially edify the teachers in our school for their task.

A trait of Jeff’s that sometimes conflicts with his sincere and spiritual curiosity is his loyalty to his church and family.  If the situation is right, a man can find the right balance between his own personal growth and his loyalty to others.  Jeff has shown me nothing but complete loyalty to those to and with whom he serves.  He hasn’t forsaken some of the culturally distinct positions of his childhood just because they have become out of fashion.    Jeff places the interests of others ahead of his own with this regard.  I think many in Jeff’s position would use it to make themselves of greater reputation.  I have observed Jeff to take advantage of his opportunities to better the service of the church.  Despite not writing much at Jackhammer, he has enhanced the blog through many technical contributions for which he was willing to put time and effort.  He has been little concerned about his own notoriety than the success of those around him.

What I’ve Noticed

Here’s a list of qualities and actions I have admired about Jeff:

1.  He seeks to be a true worshiper of God.

Every week Jeff conducts a good sized church orchestra.  His care shows.  More than this, I know personally that he desires scriptural worship from himself and for his church.

2.  He develops convictions from the Bible.

Not everyone will hear about all the ways that Jeff grows as a Christian, but he presses toward the mark for that prize in Christ Jesus.

3.  He is a  real man.

Some might think I expect something different in manhood.  Jeff stays under control and he exhibits toughness both.  Being out of control isn’t tough.  Jeff will endure the pain of running long distance as a chunky individual and or the effort of a big book.

4.  He trusts scripture.

Jeff knows that God knows best.

5.  He sacrifices.

He has a whole-hearted approach in his church.  Besides all the things that you might think of Jeff doing, I remember him organizing the collation of Bible pages to be sent overseas when I was there one time.  I appreciate what I’ve seen with his wife and daughters.

6.  He lives peaceably with men.

I appreciate Jeff’s spirit.  Many times he has a better approach than I do.  Because of that, some will listen to him that wouldn’t to me.

7.  He loves the church.

Your typical scholar-types float away from church work.  Jeff brings his academic study right into the church.

The friendship of Jeff and me has congealed from a common interest in the Bible.  We talk about its interpretation and application when we get together.  The conversations go long.  The brotherhood deepens because our talks are a forum for challenge.   When we were together last, we went evangelizing door-to-door in pouring rain in Chicago.  I don’t say that to toot his horn.  That’s something that he wanted to do.  His own conviction from scripture behooves him to preach the gospel to every creature.  Jeff isn’t a surface personality.  He wants to know God Himself through a below-the-surface understanding of His Word.

Gilded he is not.

57 Questions about Dave

In my quest to be completely objectively subjective. Or was it completely subjectively objective, I found a few memes I think they’re called to let you know some things about myself and my cohorts here. I hope Jack Hammer approves. Hopefully, there is not too much lint in these posts. 🙂

This one is called 57 Questions.

1. What time did you get up this morning? 4:30 and 6:00
2. Diamonds or pearls? Neither.  I don’t wear jewelry, other than my wedding ring and a watch.  Although my wedding ring does have diamonds in it.  But then again, I don’t think that I would look good in pearls.  Now, my wife?  That is a different story.  I have bought her both pearls and diamonds.  Probably more diamonds than pearls, if that makes a difference.  So, I would probably pick diamonds.  But never Neal.
3. What was the last film you saw?  “No Deposit, No Return”
4. What is your favorite TV show?  C-Span is my favorite show to switch channels on.  In fact, if I were to be perfectly honest, I would have to say that “Channel Surfing” is my favorite show.  The only shows that compel me to stop channel surfing are “Law and Order” or any similar crime show, and “Everybody Loves Raymond”
5. What do you usually have for breakfast?  I usually eat Cheerios until the box is empty.  Then I will eat toast.  Or else I will eat oatmeal if my wife makes enough and my kids don’t hog it all.  I have also been known to eat eggs, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, and even an occasional waffle
6. What is your middle name?  Ernest
7. What food do you dislike?  Octopus, Cow Tongue, and any green vegetable that has been cooked.
8. What is your favorite CD at the moment?  Foundation Brass Quintet “On Christmas Day.”  (That’s my spiritual answer.  My other answer, that I don’t want you to know about, is The Chipmunks…)
9. What kind of car do you drive?  Dodge Grand Caravan
10. Favorite sandwich?  Knuckle.  Or at least, that’s what I say when I’m trying to talk tough.  Or if I’m serving the sandwich.  If I’m to eat the sandwich, well then that’s a different story altogether.  When I’m the one eating, I like Bacon Cheeseburgers.
11. Favorite dish on the Thanksgiving table?  All of them.  Better yet, the one I’m eating at the moment.
12. What characteristics do you despise?  Wishy-washy.  Or maybe not…
13. Favorite item of clothing?  My argyle sweater vest.
14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?  Alaska.
15. Favorite brand of clothing?  Bucky & Tucker.
16. Where would you retire to?  My back yard.
17. What was your most recent memorable birthday?  When I turned 12 and got my first BB gun.
18. Favorite sport to watch live?  Competitive Ring- around-a-Rosy.
19. Favorite sport to watch on TV?  Bowling.  And The International Duck-Duck-Goose Championships.
20. When is your birthday?  Annually, on my natal day.
21. Are you a morning person or a night person? yes.
22. What is your shoe size? 9 1/2
23. Pets? Dog, cat, rabbit, and five two-legged little people.
24. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with us?  My brother-in-law and sister-in-law are coming for Christmas.  We didn’t think Christmas vacation was long enough, so, you know, when you can’t afford a longer vacation, invite the in-laws.  They make a week seem like a month.
25. What did you want to be when you were little?  The President of the United States.  A quarterback in the NFL.  And a pilot in the Air Force.
26. How are you today?  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse too.  Right now, I’m not going to complain, because nobody’s gonna listen anyway.  Know what I mean?  So, I’m not complaining or anything, but my in-grown toenail is better today than it has been, probably because I didn’t stub my toe on any hard objects in the last couple of days.  I’m also thinking that I might get sick soon, because, as you know, there’s a lot of sickness going around right now.  But other than that, I’m fine really.  Thanks for asking though.
27. What is your favorite candy?  York Peppermint Paddies.
28. What is your favorite flower? Dandelions.
29. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to?  Today.
30. What is your full name?  Guess…
31. What are you listening to right now?  The fan in my bathroom.
32. What was the last thing you ate?  Cheerios.  Or was it Lucky Charms?  It was one of those two.
33. Do you wish on stars?  It depends on which star.  I kinda like Sirius, although Peacock can be kinda neat, too.  Castor and Pollux might be too trendy for me, and Arcturus is probably too hip.  Ya know, I like bucking the trends, so I probably would have to stay with the stars that normal people don’t wish on, like maybe Gracrux, Regor, Wezen, Mirzam, or Rasalhague.  Polaris can be fun, but the last time I wished on it, I ran into a tree.
34. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?  Awesome, or perhaps Atomic Tangerine.  Fern isn’t bad, but I’d never want to be Fuzzy Wuzzy Brown.  Nobody would ever accuse me of being Hot Magenta.  But I might consider Neon Carrot, if the price is right.  Don’t even bring up Tickle Me Pink.
35. How is the weather right now?  Cold and snowy
36. The first person you spoke to on the phone today?  the voice mail lady
37. Favorite soft drink?  Pop
38. Favorite restaurant?  The Roof
39. Real hair color?  Blonde
40. What was your favorite toy as a child?  My electric football game.  And my BB gun.
41. Summer or winter?  Winter
42. Hugs or kisses?  Ewww.  Well, okay.  I’ll be honest with you.  But carefully reserved too.  I don’t like to be kissed by my kids when their have food on their faces.  I don’t mind a hug, so long as they don’t hang.  When my kids kiss, the rule is “peaches.”  But when I kiss my wife, which I much prefer to hugging, its “alfalfa” baby.
43. Chocolate or Vanilla?  Actually, I prefer bubble gum
44. Coffee or tea?  Pop
45. Do you want your friends to email you back?  Absolutely.
46. When was the last time you cried?  Watching my son do the Chicken Dance around the living room.
47. What is under your bed?  Extra leaves to my dining room table.  And cat hair balls.
48. What did you do last night?  Slept.  What did you do?
49. What are you afraid of?  Fear.
50. Salty or sweet?  Sweet and salty
51. How many keys on your key ring?  Two on the one, Eight on the other.
52. How many years at your current job?  11.
53. Favorite day of the week?  Sunday.
54. How many towns have you lived in?  8.
55. Do you make friends easily?  It depends on if they’ll listen.
56. How many people will you send this to? approximately 1, 276.
57. How many will respond? It really all depends.  My friends will probably think about responding because they are my friends, but then they will probably not know what to say, so they will probably refrain.  Besides, they don’t like to show emotions on the World Wide Web — and I really can’t blame them.  All the other people will probably try really hard to ignore me, unless the 38th question captures their attention, in which case, they will try their best to resist any sort of response that might seem favorable.  I’m betting that all of our readers will show their fortitude by resisting the urge.

Now, go do the left thing!

Jeff Voegtlin – Thinker of C-town

They say that Jeff thinks too much.  I can see why.  First, he has a blog by that name.  “You Think Too Much” he calls it.  And he punctuates that with an exclamation point, as if he were excited about the fact that he thinks too much.  I mean, he could put a period after it… that would make it matter of fact, a grave issue that really must be resolved through thinking less.  But he doesn’t use a period.  He could put a question mark after it… that would make it seem incredulous, the equivalent of saying, “Who, me?”  It might even make it seem doubtful, like he is not so sure.  Like he needs to think about it a little more before he decides whether or not he thinks too much.  But he doesn’t use a question mark either.  He uses an exclamation point.  George Will once compared the exclamation point to canned laughter.  F. Scott Fitzgerald compared it to laughing at your own joke.  And yet, there it is, plain as day.  Like he is applauding himself for such a trait.

Secondly, Jeff is bald.  Maybe you didn’t know this, but baldness is evidence that you think too much.  They say that if you are bald in the front, you are a thinker.  And if you are bald in the back, you are a lover.  But if you are bald in the front AND in the back, then you think you are a lover.  Take a look at his picture.  There it is, exhibit B, all wrapped up neat and tidy for the whole world to see.

Thirdly, Jeff doesn’t write very often.  That should be proof positive that he thinks too much.  He never gets around to posting because he spends too much time thinking about what he wants to post.  He thinks so much that the post is long gone, forgotten, vamoused, before he gets to his keyboard.

Fourthly, other people have told me that Jeff thinks too much.  In fact, if someone were to write a biography of Jeff, it would probably be entitled, “You Think too Much.”  Note that I didn’t put an exclamation point in the title of the biography.  If it were an autobiography, it would have an exclamation point.  But the biography would be more matter of fact.  Nine out of ten of Jeff’s friends and neighbors and family members say that he thinks too much.  And if my sources are correct, his wife Annette says that he thinks too much, too.  Of course, my sources said this on condition of anonymity, so I cannot reveal who they are.

Fifthly, if you’ve ever carried on a conversation with Jeff, then you know first hand that he thinks too much.  You might notice that, from time to time, he will say, “I think…”  There it is, plain as day.  An admission of guilt.  You heard it right out of his mouth.  What further evidence do we need?

Sixthly, whenever Jeff talks, he almost always will stop talking.  Further proof.  What do you think he is doing when he stops talking?  He’s thinking.  Sometimes, and I realize that this might be shocking to some in this more enlightened day and age, but sometimes, he thinks before he speaks.  We don’t say this in order to embarrass him, but it is the ugly truth.

Seventhly, I’m told that Jeff even thinks while he sleeps.  In fact, I am told that his mind never stops thinking.  Nor am I surprised by this.  After all, a guy with a brain can’t just let it rest.  And Jeff has a brain.  You can almost see it sticking out through the skin on the top of his head.  If you are around him when he lays his head back in the lazy boy and falls asleep in the middle of the day, you can almost hear an audible squeeking noise.  I for one believe the reports that say that Jeff thinks while he sleeps.  He has been known to have good ideas in the morning on occasion.  What else could that be the result of, but thinking while sleeping.  And who among us would not say that this is further evidence that Jeff thinks too much?

Eighthly, and I really hate to betray a friendship, but I have known Jeff for a long time, and I bear you my testimony as an eyewitness: Jeff thinks too much.  I’ve seen it.  But that will require me to tell you my story.

You see, I met Jeff when we were both in about the 8th or 9th grade.  He probably doesn’t remember this, but Jeff and his dad came down to my home church in Terre Haute.  His dad was there to preach and Jeff was there with him.  I think he was there to think.  In fact, that was the first time that I saw him thinking.  It was really obvious to my 8th or 9th grade mind, anyway, that that was indeed what was going on.

Throughout high school, I ran into Jeff on more than several occasions.  My high school played against his high school, for instance, in soccer.  We also wrestled against his high school.  Or, rather, we sacrificed our bodies to be pinned on Fairhaven’s legendary wrestling mats.  Jeff was on a wrestling team that went undefeated I think for four or five or six years.  Now, once again, people have tried to sweep this under the rug, but I have learned from my own private investigations the secrets of their success.  You might remember Foghorn Leghorn and that little chicken “Egghead, Jr.”  If you do, you probably remember that Egghead, Jr somehow managed to knock the cover off the baseball, through the magic of mathematical formulations.  You see, Jeff was, back then, Fairhaven’s secret weapon… little Egghead, Jr on the wrestling mats.  I didn’t catch on back then, being myself only a young stupid teenager.  But as soon as they told me about it, it all came together in my mind.  I can still remember Jeff, before each match, taking his teammates aside, whipping out his pencil and his little notepad, and scratching furiously.  Then, the guy would go out and just cream his opponent.

But that is not all.  When I went to Fairhaven, of course, there was Jeff.  I joined the soccer team, which Jeff was also a part of.  And I learned something interesting in practices.  Here I would be, running frantically after the soccer ball when, whap! I would run into Jeff.  You see, I thought that Jeff was chasing the ball too, and I was running behind him.  But when I turned to find the ball, Jeff would stop.  Right there in the middle of the soccer field.  And whap!  I would run into him.  Now, at the time, I just thought that it was Jeff being an annoyance.  It almost seemed sometimes like he was trying to get me to run into him.  In fact, I could swear sometimes that he threw his shoulder back in order to knock me down.  But I have finally figured out what it was that Jeff was really doing.  He was thinking.  He was chasing that soccer ball, and all of a sudden, mid-stride, he thought of something.

Now, of course, Jeff has been a good friend through all these years.  And Jeff’s dad was my pastor through my college years and beyond.  In fact, Jeff’s dad was a great help and blessing to me in a time when I desperately needed spiritual guidance.  God used him greatly in my life, and I will always appreciate the man I call Preacher.  And, through various circumstances, I became very close friends with Preacher’s son and two sons-in-law.  Besides Kent, these are the closest friendships that I have outside of my marriage.

I only say all of that to help you understand that my testimony is not the testimony of some nosy neighbor with a pair of binoculars.  I have been around these guys.  The others think some, too.  But all things in moderation.  Jeff thinks all the time.  Not just some of the time.  I have seen it, through the years.  When we get together, we’ll go out to eat.  There sits Jeff, thinking.  We’ll get together and talk.  What does Jeff want to talk about?  He wants to talk about what he has been thinking about.

Not only that, but I have a man in my church who grew up with Jeff.  I mean went to Kindergarten with Jeff, and all the way through High School and college.  This man has often told me of the great respect that he has and always had for Jeff.  I can tell you, based on the testimony of this man, that Jeff has set a great example.  Most preacher’s kids drive me insane with their pompous arrogance.  You will never see that in Jeff.  He, much like his father, is as genuine as they come.  I like that about Jeff, and have always appreciated his friendship.  But I like it even more that his friends don’t think that this is just the face he puts on when he is around those who don’t really know him.  Those who know him best will tell you, that Jeff is the real deal.  He loves the Lord, he serves the Lord, he has made a real difference in the lives of those he has worked with.  And, they will tell you that he thinks too much.  When I mention to this man in my church that Jeff thinks too much, he just laughs.  I assume it is because he has so many stories he could tell that would, no doubt, confirm the awful truth.

So, there you have it folks.  You’ve heard of John Bunyan, Tinker of Bedford.  Here we have Jeff Voegtlin, Thinker of C-town.  But, for the final proof, maybe we should ask Jeff what he thinks.  Maybe he will tell us.  Or, perhaps he will tell us that he thinks that we’ve been thinking too much about how much he has been thinking.  Either way will serve our purpose, of course.

Quiet Thunder

Over ten years ago, I started from scratch again with my fellowship.  A visiting preacher took some of my sermon tapes from my Genesis series with him on the road and he passed them along in Utah to Thomas Corkish, pastor at Anchor Baptist Church of Salt Lake City.   Soon after, I was invited to preach there at a Bible Conference with a creationism theme.   I didn’t know Thomas Corkish and I was truly scared of having any kind of relationship with him because I was afraid I would have to separate from him shortly thereafter for something he believed.  Afterward, I heard that he was also frightened about what he was getting into with me.  I was happy to hear it.  I figured that if he was uncomfortable having me preach at his church then he wouldn’t be disappointed when I told him I would never be back again.

Shortly after I got home, I received a copy of The Lifeline, the monthly news and views from Anchor.  Over several months of receiving it, I found that this Dr. Corkish and I believed the same.  I wrote him and thanked him for The Lifeline and informed him that I thought we believed and practiced the same way, so that we could fellowship.  I had become entirely alone on the West Coast and I was amazed that there were men that believed just like I did.  I wondered why I had not heard about Corkish and others at the conference before.  Later I found out that there were these types of unaffiliated  Baptists spotting the country.  What a find for me!  These guys were a complete breath of fresh air, another planet compared to what I was accustomed to.

I hadn’t been familiar with the Corkish style of Bible conference.  They called it a preaching conference and I have since come to understand that this is a common event for unaffiliated Baptists.  A handful of these churches hold these conferences and men choose a couple a year to get together.  Many who attend also preach.  A couple of years later I traveled to Utah again to attend the preaching conference in Salt Lake City.  From reading others’ accounts, I believe this was 1998.

Impressive First Impression

For a decade or more, Thomas Corkish had Pastor Mark Short as his assistant.  I had known the Short family, because they lived near Watertown, WI and they also attended Maranatha Baptist Bible College like I had.  Mark was several years older than me, but his sister was a class ahead of me at Maranatha Baptist Academy.   Five to ten years before my very first trip to Anchor, the Lord had led Pastor Short to take the office of pastor at Berean Baptist Church in Ogden, about a 45 minute to an hour drive north of Salt Lake City.   When I came back for the preaching conference again at Anchor, Dave Mallinak had just become an assistant to Mark Short in Ogden.

I hadn’t even met Dave when I heard him preach for the first time in a morning session at Anchor’s Bible conference.  I had heard he was a Fairhaven graduate.  I was very interested in how he would preach.   I’m admittedly very picky about preaching.   At a base level, I want a man to preach the Bible.  It seems like a simple thing to expect, but I already knew that it was rare to hear that kind of preaching.  Men would use the Bible, what Dr. Corkish calls concordance preaching, where the man looks up a word in Strongs and then strings together all the references with several stories into a sermon.   Often when I’ve heard that kind of preaching, there is very little explanation of the text and many of those verses are taken out of context.  I try to get as much out of those sermons as I can, but usually they grate me as much as anything and I sit and attempt to bear through.  Sometimes I’m disgusted, not necessarily with the one who preached, but the way separatist men have learned to preach wherever they got their training.

With no disrespect to Fairhaven, I didn’t know too much about the college at the time, but I expected to hear that kind of sermon from Dave Mallinak.  I was hoping the best, but I really thought that he would walk back and forth on the platform and do a lot of hollering and pull out his best stories to make it even better.   Before I talked to Dave for the first time, I had noticed him with Pastor Short.  I knew he was from Fairhaven, and I was interested in Fairhaven.  I had gone to ground zero in my college recommendations, so I watched with curiosity.  He seemed quiet and very serious.  I don’t think I saw him smile.  It wasn’t what I was expecting.  He didn’t seem slick.  I guess I thought I’d see more of that.  I was really wondering how this very stern, humorless younger man could pull off the uvula-wagging blast-fest that must be his preaching style.  I sat anticipating the transformation that surely would take place when he stepped behind the pulpit.

When Dave was introduced and walked onto the platform, he had no change in demeanor.  It wasn’t showtime.  Then he opened his mouth and the tone of his voice was conversational, like he was just talking.   His vocal chords didn’t preacherfy.   If I knew I would be writing this, I would have tried to remember what he preached on.  I might have the notes, because I usually take some.  However, I was delighted with what I heard.  There was nothing contrived or choreographed.  I was getting Dave Mallinak.   He was interested in explaining Scripture, stepping behind the Bible as his authority.  Wow.  I remember smiling.  I was relieved.  Yes!

Burning in the Bosom

Dave was real.  He was himself.  A major characteristic of his style was the piecing together of rhetoric, his choice of words, that were saturated in thought about a passage.  He didn’t move around.  The power behind what he spoke wasn’t in the histrionics, but in the content of the sermon.   The interest was kept by the carefulness of his syntax.  As I think about that first meeting, I am reminded of Ecclesiastes 12:10-11:

The preacher sought to find out acceptable words: and that which was written was upright, even words of truth. The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd.

Still Dave’s manner of preaching is content driven.  He seeks to find those acceptable words that act as goads.  He rarely raises his voice, and yet the suspense over what he’ll say next holds the attention.   What I am describing is why I believe a friend of mine aptly describes him as “quiet thunder.”   The thunder is in the attention grabbing and holding substance, not in the theatrics.   The words are burning embers that hold a constant glow.

I looked around when Dave left the stage and sat down.  I wondered if other people appreciated it as much as I did.   After the morning session, we headed to “fellowship hall” for a lunch provided by the church.  I went through the line for my food and then turned and looked to sit with Dave so that we could talk.  I don’t remember what we talked about, but I do recall that he was soft-spoken and serious again.  Since then I have learned the dry, cerebral sense of humor, sometimes spiced with sarcasm.  He wasn’t trying to impress anyone.  He was fine being second man.   He didn’t try to dominate the conversation but was fine giving his opinion.  I liked him.

Stepping Up

The next time I recall meeting Dave was the summer of 2001 when we did go back to Anchor’s conference, but this time we scheduled a youth drama and music tour that would visit eight or nine churches in two weeks.  We started on Monday night in Salt Lake City and then drove up Wednesday afternoon to Ogden to be at Berean with Pastor Short.  This was the first time I had come to Berean.

The church at Ogden had scheduled activities with their young people.  We performed our drama and music and I preached in their midweek service.  We headed to Berean’s gym and Pastor Short and I talked while we sat and watched the volleyball with the two teen groups and and the adult youth leaders, Pastor Mallinak leading the whole festivity.  I didn’t talk to Dave much on that trip, but it was a fateful summer.  I stayed at the Shorts house that night and we had a great time together.   We shared stories and laughed and ate some more.  He bragged about Pastor Mallinak and also shared the story of his oldest daughter and son-in-law, who were recently married and beginning a ministry for the Lord in Fiji.  He suggested that we do this same kind of trip every two years and make sure that we come to his church when we did.

Not much more than a few weeks later, I got an email from Pastor Short, asking me if I would be interested in financially supporting his son-in-law and daughter as missionaries.  He wrote that he would try to get something scheduled between the two of us.  He said he was having a great time there and that it would be great if I could come and visit sometime. The next day Mark Short died, drowned by a rogue wave in the Pacific Ocean, leaving a wife, four children, and a church behind.

I wept for the Shorts, for Berean, and for all those who knew and loved Mark Short.  I made arrangements to be at the funeral.  Dave and I didn’t talk much there.  I didn’t talk much to anyone.  I cried and cried.  Dr. Corkish preached a great message.  Then I flew home the next day.

I prayed for Berean and my own desire was for Dave Mallinak to pastor the church.  I thought he had the conviction and temperament to do it.  He was loyal to Pastor Short.  He would have the best interests of the church in view.  And he became pastor.  I don’t remember the details, but I knew it would be tough.  He would be compared to the best memories of Mark Short.  Mrs. Short was right there in the church.  She and the rest of the church would be analyzing everything that Dave did next to how their beloved pastor had done things.   Even outsiders who loved Mark Short would watch carefully.

Someone like Dave could get it done.  He wasn’t chomping at the bit to get into that position.  He comforted the church.  He mourned with them.  He loved them.  One thing I’ve learned as a pastor is that you can’t do everything.  You can’t please everyone.  You can’t solve every person’s problem.  There’s no way that anyone could have been everything to every man that every man could want.  Dave could be what God wanted him to be, and he was.

Dave sought counsel during this time.  I’m sure strong men were an encouragement to him and a help.  He looked for advice.  I know he talked to Roger Voegtlin and Thomas Corkish.  We talked on the phone.   He acted wisely.  In my opinion, he treated the Shorts in the best way possible, guiding the church to take care of Mrs. Short and her family financially.

During those times, Dave called me a few times and we talked.  I came to the church and preached.  We spent hours talking when I visited.   There’s a tremendous amount to admire about Dave Mallinak.  He led the church with strength.  He made good decisions based on convictions from God and founded in his own moral integrity and knowledge of God’s Word.

What I Think of Dave Mallinak?

I see Dave every year.  Starting a few years ago, we started an academic and fine arts meet with each other.   Dave came here.  We went there.  Dave came here again.  This year we go back to Ogden.  Every meet has gotten better.  We enjoy the fellowship.  I say this all to say that I know him.  Here’s what I think Dave Mallinak is about:

First, he loves the Lord.  Dave has a real salvation experience which has resulted in a clear demonstration of the grace of God in His life.  I don’t take that for granted.  What spurs him on is the time with God he has, because he loves God.

Second, he loves the Word of God.  Dave cares about how he handles the Word of God.  He is willing, I believe, to be honest with it.  That might be the thing that draws us together the most.  He is a thinker and he thinks through what a passage says.  He’s not fly-by-night, but he will alter what he’s doing to fit the Bible.  I admire him for that.

Third, he’s a man.  Dave is strong.  He won’t back down on something he believes.  I like this.   We’ve got the kind of friendship, that you may have noticed, that will smack a little.  He’s very respectful; don’t get me wrong, but we go at each other.  You may think it’s just on this blog, but what comes to mind is our discussion we had about debate at our last academic meet.  Most males couldn’t have that kind of combat and come out of it with the same kind of relationship.  It would have ruined it.  It made ours stronger.  He doesn’t mind being challenged.  He even asks for it.

He serves in a very tough area and has toughed it out.  He’s had numerous personal hardships in his life.  He doesn’t quit.  I’m thankful for Dave in this way.

Fourth, he is humble.  He can’t talk about this, but I can.  Dave has been attacked by some in a very unfair way in different situations.  I’ve seen it.  Dave could have pulled the rug on all those relationships.  He hasn’t.  He has a real spirit of reconciliation.  I believe this takes more of a man.  He will change if he sees it is best.  He won’t keep doing it a certain way just because that was his way before.  He is very kind and treats people with kindness.  I see the fruit of the Spirit in his life.

Fifth, he is sacrificial.  He and his wife don’t live for themselves.  They are the Lord’s.  He works very, very hard.  He does it for the Lord and for the people of his church.  When I see him, he almost always seems like he needs sleep.  Sorry Dave, but sometimes you have looked like death warmed over.  He has always tried to do it a little better than what he has had time to do it.

Sixth, he is a good friend.  Dave is loyal to his friends.  I know he’s been loyal to people in the past.  He’s been loyal to people who may not have deserved his loyalty.  I’m not saying that he would be loyal if it meant disobeying Scripture.  I don’t think he would be that way.  He’s obviously loyal to his wife.  He isn’t going to give up on the people he cares for.   I know he would try to reconcile or help someone to change before he would give-up on a friend.

Seventh, he is flexible.  He doesn’t walk according to some mold.  If he thinks it is right and best, he’ll do it.

Eighth, he isn’t trying to be somebody he isn’t.  I already said that Dave is real.  What you see is what you get.   You may not like everything you’re getting, but you do know it is him, nothing put on.  I like that he hasn’t tried to be someone else.

I’m sure there is more to say about Dave Mallinak.  I’m glad he’s in Ogden, Utah.  He and his wife are salt of the earth.  If the Lord led him anywhere else, I’d be happy he was there too.

57 Questions about Kent

In my quest to be completely objectively subjective. Or was it completely subjectively objective, I found a few memes I think they’re called to let you know some things about myself and my cohorts here.  I hope Jack Hammer approves.  Hopefully, there is not too much lint in these posts.  🙂

This one is called 57 Questions.

1. What time did you get up this morning?   7:15
2. Diamonds or pearls?  It depends on whether you’re talking about my nose or my eyebrow.
3. What was the last film you saw?  A Discovery Channel series on DVD about a climb on Mt. Everest
4. What is your favorite TV show?   Hannity and Colmes, which I’ve heard is now just Hannity
5. What do you usually have for breakfast?  two eggs and two pieces of whole wheat toast, many times eaten in a tupperware container in commute traffic while driving
6. What is your middle name?  Alan
7. What food do you dislike?  Cooked celery
8. What is your favorite CD at the moment?   A Best of Tchaikovsky CD
9. What kind of car do you drive?  Toyota Sienna
10. Favorite sandwich?  Po Boy
11. Favorite dish on the Thanksgiving table?  Turkey
12. What characteristics do you despise?  Apathy, Ambivalence, Self-centered
13. Favorite item of clothing?  the first thing I put on in the morning
14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?  Sierra Nevadas
15. Favorite brand of clothing?  The kind in wrapping paper
16. Where would you retire to?   A Good Church
17. What was your most recent memorable birthday?  40 sticks out
18. Favorite sport to watch live?  Whatever one my kids are playing
19. Favorite sport to watch on TV?  Football
20. When is your birthday?  April 13
21. Are you a morning person or a night person?  Night
22. What is your shoe size?  13
23. Pets?  No
24. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with us?  My oldest son is graduating from high school.  I’m training two men to pastor at seminary level.  My parents will be married for 50 years in January.
25. What did you want to be when you were little?  A high school student
26. How are you today?  Joyful
27. What is your favorite candy?   Chocolate
28. What is your favorite flower?  Rose
29. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to?  December 21
30. What is your full name?  Kent Alan Brandenburg
31. What are you listening to right now?  Nothing
32. What was the last thing you ate?  Chicken Soup
    
33. Do you wish on stars?  Um, no.
34. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?  Orange
35. How is the weather right now?  Rainy
36. The first person you spoke to on the phone today?  My wife
37. Favorite soft drink?  Cherry Coke
38. Favorite restaurant?  Ruth’s Chris
39. Real hair color?  Brown
40. What was your favorite toy as a child? Wiffle ball
41. Summer or winter?  Summer
42. Hugs or kisses?  Hugs
43. Chocolate or Vanilla?  Vanilla
44. Coffee or tea?  Coffee
45. Do you want your friends to email you back?  Yes
46. When was the last time you cried?  Yesterday morning
47. What is under your bed?  Boxes
48. What did you do last night?  Lord’s Table
49. What are you afraid of?  Ruining everything
50. Salty or sweet?  Sweet
51. How many keys on your key ring?  About 15
52. How many years at your current job?  21
53. Favorite day of the week?  Thursday
54. How many towns have you lived in?  Six
55. Do you make friends easily?  Yes
56. How many people will you send this to?  8.5 billion
57. How many will respond?  Not Enough

Enjoy!

Jack the Force Amplifier

Once upon a time, behind a wooden barn door, underneath a wooden barn roof, inside a wooden barn, there labored a village smithy.  The smith, a mighty man was he, with large and sinewy hands; and the muscles of his brawny arms were strong as iron bands.  But this was Before Kent (call it B.K. for short).

Week in and week out, from morn till night, you could hear his bellows blow; you could hear him swing his heavy sledge, with measured beat and slow, like a sexton ringing the village bell, when the evening sun is slow.  But it was before Jeff, too, and before he started swinging that baton around.

The children coming home from school would look in at the open door; they loved to see the flaming forge, and hear the bellows roar, and catch the burning sparks that fly like chaff from a threshing floor.

The smell of hot steel beaten upon the old anvil greeted every guest of that ancient wooden barn, and one day upon the anvil, a hammer was formed.  That hammer was my father.  My name is Jack.  Jack Hammer.  Some of my friends call me “Jack the Hammer,” as a sort of reminder of my more famous cousin Mack.  Mack the Knife, that is.  But I prefer to simply be called Jack, or else Hammer.  Of course, I don’t mind being called Jack Hammer either.  But that is usually what my mom calls me whenever I am late for supper.  Which is not very often either, and no, my mom never calls me Late For Supper.  But that is beside the point.

My mother is one of the cutest little Ball-Peen Hammers that you ever did see, and my father is a big, brawny Sledge Hammer.  When I was little, I was thin as a rail, and for a while my dad thought that I would grow up to be a plain old claw hammer.  When I was a teen, he swore I’d either be a wooden mallet or a rubber mallet, and sometimes thought I might be both.  I guess I didn’t make much of an impact as a young man.  Of course, my dad always wanted me to be just like him when I grew up, but things just didn’t go the way he planned.  And since the men of our family have never been much more than force amplifiers anyway, he was not nearly as disappointed as we thought he might be when he found out that I worked best when attached to some mechanical device.

Of course, it took some time to figure out exactly what device I worked best with.  Secretly, I tried to work with a Hammer Drill for a little while, but to no avail.  I had plenty of kinetic energy stored up in my head to begin with, equal to the length D of the swing times the force f produced by the muscles of the arm and by gravity.  But my size combined with the size of said Hammer Drill failed to deliver a punch effective enough to penetrate soggy drywall, and I quickly found myself replaced by a more suitable (I’m sure) scrap of steel.

Then one day, I met a Pneumatic Drill suitable for my peculiar size and (if I may be so bold) that was just my style, and we became fast friends.  Since then, I have learned that busting up rock and pavement and concrete suits me much more than driving finishing nails or tent pegs.  Am I different?  You bet.  But I am what I am.

Of course, that doesn’t really explain what I am doing here on the now no doubt Famous JackHammer blog.  By the way, isn’t that the best name for a blog that you ever did see?  But I digress.

It happened on a cool spring afternoon in April, tucked safely between the cushions of one of Jeff’s chairs in his basement.  Jeff was messing around with his laptop, Kent was waxing eloquent, and Dave had that stupid smirk on his face, and I was hovering somewhere in the room, wandering from closet to spare bedroom to patio door.  They were looking for ideas, and, wouldn’t you know it, there I was.  I thought they’d never notice.  But I’ll have to give them credit for this one.  They’ve had some pretty stupid ideas, as you have no doubt noticed already.  But this wasn’t one of them.

Of course, when they first mentioned that they’d like my help with a blog, I told them I’d have to get back with them.  But when their people contacted my agent, we got things, if you’ll excuse the pun, hammered out.  Now, of course, I’m a guy to give credit where credit is due.  So, I’ll just have to tell you, in the strictest confidence of course, that if it weren’t for me, I don’t know what these guys would do.  Call me the brains behind the brawn.  I know, I know, I probably don’t strike (if you’ll pardon the expression) you as a brainiac.  But then, that’s where these guys come in.  Especially Dave and Jeff.  Thanks to them, even I can be brilliant.  After all, with brains like their’s, who needs gunpowder?  But enough about them.

That only leaves the question of typing left to be answered.  Yes, I will admit that typing was somewhat of a challenge at first.  But once I got the hang of hitting the keys without obliterating them, I found that I was quite quick.  They don’t call me the JackHammer for nothing, after all.

Now, I understand that my hammering, unlike their little pitty-pattering, tends to be a little on the dangerous side.  The health risks of constant jackhammering have been well documented in other places, and I’ll not bother you with all the details.  Let’s just say that the sound of my hammer blows combined with the explosive air exhaust, makes me dangerous.  My head is a registered weapon.  Readers are cautioned to wear eye protection along with sound-blocking earmuffs.  Nevertheless, out of concern for the regular readers of this blog, I make it a habit to operate only after my silencer is firmly in place on my barrel.  And, of course, I try to limit my discourses more than the others, keeping my posting to about once per month in order to help you, my dear readers, from developing carpal tunnel syndrome, restless leg syndrome, ADD, ADHD, or Tourette Syndrome.

I asked for a holster for my next birthday, too.

God Meant It for Good

Tales of a Life Half Lived

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.  To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe)…

So begins David Copperfield, and so begins my story too.  I was born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, to David and BethSalmon, who were at the time serving together in the First Church of God of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  I wish I could give you some of the details of my birth, but unfortunately my memory of that no doubt joyous occasion has strangely disappeared.  I was born, of this I am quite certain.  And I am much larger now than I was then.  Of that I am certain as well.

But my story does not begin there.  Both my mother and father grew up in College Park, Maryland, not more than two miles from each other, though they did not know each other until they attended Bible College together.  Before them, my father’s parents both grew up in Washington, D.C., back in the days when D.C. was a safe place to live.  His parents (my grandparents) met at a softball game.  The story goes that when my grandfather first saw my grandmother, he decided that he absolutely had to meet her, and the sooner the better.  But then he discovered that she was engaged to be married.  A minor obstacle, no doubt, but an obstacle nonetheless.  That is, until her father offered my grandfather $100 if he could get her to break up with her fiance.  Grandpa got his $100.

Urban legend (courtesy of my grandfather) tells us that during the softball game, the infamous fiance came up to bat, and my grandfather determined that he was going to catch any fly ball that came his way and put the jerk out of the game.  Right on cue, The Rival hit a deep fly ball, which my grandfather chased down with all of his might.  As he sprinted into the outfield, he failed to see the rather large tree that had somehow managed to plant itself right in my grandfather’s path.  You can guess the rest.  My grandfather hit the tree so hard that the buttons of his shirt stuck in the bark of the tree.  When he woke up, who should be wiping the blood off his face, but my grandmother.  The rest, as they say, is history.  My grandfather asked my grandmother if she were doing anything after the game.  She told him that she would be going with Ole’ What’s-His-Face.  My grandfather asked if she were doing anything after that.  My grandmother replied that she would be happy to join my grandfather after that, should he come a-callin’.  My grandmother tells me that her fiance, upon finding out what was up, called her and threatened to kill himself.  My grandmother very graciously offered to supply the weapon.  She and grandpa married three months later.  And, after celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary, my grandfather (about 5 years ago) gave up the ghost and was gathered to his fathers.  My grandmother left us two weeks ago at the ripe old age of 92 years.

My grandparents were not saved when they married.  World War 2 was just beginning, and my grandfather joined the Navy as a flight engineer.  My father was born while he was away at war, and did not meet his father until he was about 2 years old.  Sometime around the time my father was entering his teen years, my grandmother and grandfather came to understand their need of salvation and in faith and repentance called on the Lord to save them.  My grandfather told me that he realized when he first trusted the Lord that he was limited in what he could do for God.  But, he said, there was no limit to what my father could do.  And so, my grandfather began to pray that God would call his son into the ministry.  When my father finished high school, my grandfather urged him to attend Bible College, but for a year or two, my father resisted this.  Finally, God prevailed, and my father enrolled (at my grandfather’s urging) in Washington Bible College.

During his time as a student, my father met and eventually married my mother, and together the two of them moved to Pennsylvania, where my father served as an Associate Pastor at the Church of God.  We lived on the second and third floors of the row house right next to the church.  When I was two, my father decided to pursue a Master’s Degree, and moved our family to Winona Lake, Indiana, where my father enrolled in Grace Theological Seminary.  My family and I lived in a trailer in Goshen, Indiana, and during that time my father served as pastor of the Valley Bible Church, near South Bend.

It was during this time that tragedy struck our little family.  My father went into the hospital to have some gallstones removed.  When the doctors began to operate, they discovered so many stones that they decided to remove his gall bladder.  This triggered a series of escalating health problems that uncovered a very rare blood condition known as spherocytosis.  At the time, doctors knew very little about this blood disorder, and responded to it by removing organs, including his spleen.  The numerous surgeries left my father in a coma for six months.  When my mother realized that he was not going to survive, she brought my two sisters (ages 2 and about 3 months) and me to the hospital to see our dad for the last time in this life.  I was almost 5 at the time.  I remember saying that dad looked like a monster.  He really did.  And then, he was gone.

When a five year old loses his father, he really struggles to make sense of it all.  I remember checking the door to see if he was coming home.  I really didn’t understand why he wasn’t coming back.  I remember playing with my sisters, and looking up to see my mother crying on the couch.  My mom tells me that I began to quiz her about where dad was, and when I could see him again.  Though my memory of this is sketchy, my mother tells me that every day, like clockwork, I would climb up next to her and ask her about dad.  And every day, like clockwork, my mom would explain to me that my dad was in heaven.  Every day, I would ask her when I could go see him.  And every day, my mom would explain to me about Adam’s sin and my sin, and that my sin made it so that I could not go to heaven, because God could not have sin in his presence.  Every day, my mom would explain to me that Jesus Christ came to this earth to be punished for the sins that I committed, and that I could only go to heaven if Jesus saved me.  Every day, my mother showed me from the Bible that only Jesus could take my sin away, and that only Jesus could justify me and take me to heaven.  Every day, my mother taught me that I must confess that I was a sinner and that I must ask him to save me.

But I don’t remember any of that.  My mother tells me that I went through this routine every day for about three months.  I don’t remember asking her any day, except for one day.  We were on our way to church on Sunday morning, as we did every Sunday.  I was sitting in the front seat of our yellow Plymouth.  I remember asking my mom where dad was, and when I could see him again.  My mom told me that he was in heaven, and asked me if I remembered that I was a sinner.  I remember telling my mom that I knew that I was a sinner.  I asked her that day if that meant that I could not go to heaven, or see dad.  My mom told me that if I died in my sins, I would not go to heaven.  I remember asking her how I could go to heaven, and I remember her telling me that Jesus had taken the punishment for my sin on the cross.  I remember her telling me that only Jesus could save me.  And then, my mom tells me that I said something that I had never said before.  She says that I asked her, “What do I need to do?”  I remember that, too.  My mother told me that I needed to confess that I was a sinner, and ask Christ to save me.  I remember the sense of urgency that I had to do this, and I asked my mom, “When can I do that?”  My mom, who for all of those months had taught me the gospel so faithfully, for the first time told me that I could ask Jesus to save me right then.  And, she kept on driving.  I thought about this for a few moments, and then I said, “I want to ask Jesus to save me.”

My mom pulled the car over and, on a country road in rural Indiana, I called on the name of the Lord to be saved.  And then, in my child-like faith, I looked up at the sky for a few moments, waiting for the sky to open, for a bright light to shine down on me, and for God to bring me to heaven.  I thought I heard the angels rejoicing, and I thought that in a moment I might see my dad again.  But of course, the sky did not open, there was no bright light, and I stayed right there in my seat.  I asked my mom, “Mom, when do I get to go to heaven?  Don’t I get to go right now?”  Patiently, mom explained that God leaves us here so that we can tell others about Jesus.  And of course, that made sense even to my five-year-old mind.  After all, my mom was saved, and she was still there.  But I have never forgotten that answer.

From Salmon to Mallinak

With the money left from my father’s life insurance policy, my mother was able to buy a small house in Warsaw, Indiana, a few blocks from the Billy Sunday Tabernacle.  It was there that my mother met a young college student by the name of Dave Mallinak, also a student at Grace Theological Seminary.  As I recall, we were eating dinner with several students at the college, and I asked around the table to find out everyone’s age and marital status.  It wasn’t the first time that I did this.  But this time there was, shall we say, a bit of magic.  When I came to Mr. Mallinak, I asked him where his wife was.  He replied, “I don’t have a wife.”  I said, “oh-h-h-h-h.”  Then, I asked, “how old are you.”  He said, “29.”  I said, “oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.”  Then, I said, “well, my mom is only 28.  And she needs a new husband.  And I need a new daddy.”

Dave Mallinak spent the next two weeks helping mom to paint our white picket fence.  At the end of those two weeks, he hopped on his motorcycle and took two weeks riding all over the west and asking the Lord what he should do.  When he came back, he married my mother.  We moved to Rosedale, Indiana, located in the heart of beautiful Parke County, Indiana, where my father became the Assistant Pastor at the Lyford Bible Church, and when I was in the first grade, he adopted me.

I can honestly say that my new dad didn’t know that I was adopted.  To him, I was and am his son, and he is my dad.  I can still remember him waking me up at 5:00 in the morning to take a walk or a motorcycle ride or to play a game of tennis.  He always took the time with me, and we have many wonderful memories.  My dad served as the pastor of Lyford Bible Church for about a year.  During that time, my dad, through the study of God’s Word, came to understand that he was a Baptist.  The church, meanwhile, came to understand that he was a Baptist, too.  And, as this idea was incompatable with the people of that church, my dad was removed as pastor.  Since he was a Baptist, and an ordained pastor, and since there was not a Baptist Church in the immediate vicinity, my dad determined that there should and would be one.  So, he started the Bethel Baptist Church in our home, just a few miles down the road from his former church.  He continued to pastor this church for about three years, and then he decided to close it down, and moved our family to Shepherdsville Baptist Church in Shepherdsville, Indiana.

It was around this time that my dad took our family to hear Fred Moritz preach at the Grace Baptist Church of Terre Haute, Indiana, and during his message, I first surrendered my life to the Lord.  My parents always worked hard to keep us in Christian School, first at Terre Haute Christian School, then later at Blessed Hope Baptist School, nearly forty-five minutes away from our home.  When Shepherdsvilled Baptist Church began a Christian school, my parents moved us there, where we attended for two years.  Finally, my parents moved our family to Freedom Baptist Church and enrolled us in Freedom Baptist Academy.

Freedom was my first introduction to Jack Hyles.  Our pastor was a full-fledged Hylot, as the regular readers of this blog have no doubt already gathered.  I have written extensively about John Price elsewhere, and will not further aggravate our readers by reiterating that particular chapter of my life.  Let dead horses be buried, not beaten.  I’ll only say that God used this time in my life in a very special way.  First, I developed a true heart for evangelism.  I learned to serve the Lord with all my heart.  Our academy had a wrestling team in addition to a soccer and basketball team, and although I hated wrestling every day, I also learned some very important and necessary lessons in life through this particular “field of friendly stife.”  Most of all, God used this time to teach me to trust him, and not to trust men.

From Boy to Man

In my senior year of high school, I began to pray very seriously about where God would have me to go to college.  The choice for me narrowed down to one of two places: either Hyles-Anderson College or Fairhaven Baptist College.  I was familiar with both places… our youth group attended the Youth Conference at Hyles every summer, and the Preaching Conference at Fairhavenevery spring.  In addition to that, we wrestled against bothschools, and found ourselves making the three hour trip to both places frequently throughout the year.  In my senior year, we made a trip to visit both colleges.  During that trip, God settled in my mind that he wanted me to attend Fairhaven.  Although Hyles was the capital of hype, and a form of hype that was particularly enticing to an 18 year-old-young man, I recognized something genuine at Fairhaven.

That summer, I attended the Youth Conference at Hyles for the last time.  When I came home, I told my parents that I enjoyed myself, and, although I’m sure I would have liked it if God had chosen to send me to college there, I was even more sure that God wanted me at Fairhaven.  My parents’ reply surprised me.  They told me that they were sorry to hear that, as they were hoping that I would change my mind.  They then told me of a message that Dr. Voegtlin had preached, called “Why I am not 100% for Jack Hyles.”  My parents had a tape, and they had me listen to it.  Then, they told me that our pastor had decided to side with Hyles, and that it wouldn’t be right for me to go to Fairhavenwithout our pastor’s full blessing.  I met with my pastor, and he told me that I should switch to Hyles.  So, I did.

I enjoyed the social scene of Hyles, perhaps a little too much.  I loved working in the bus ministry, loved all the activities that characterized life at Hyles, loved the sports program and even the hype.  The things I did not enjoy involved class and study and dorm life.  But, by the end of the year, I was a full-fledged Hylot, despite some very troubling concerns.  While I enjoyed the fun parts, I became very concerned about some of what I was involved with.  In my efforts to truly evangelize the lost, I found myself questioning the methods used for winning people to Christ.  It seemed too much like I was misleading people than that I was leading them to Christ.  Not only that, but I found the upper-classmen’s penchant for lying in order to boost their numbers and inflate their results to be very troubling.  Not to mention the encouragement that the staff gave, always in an off-handed manner of course, to inflate numbers.  I’ll never forget the time I confronted my bus captain for this.  It was on the second of the now infamous “Pentecost Sundays,” and when we pulled up to the Hammond Civic Center, where we would be holding services and baptizing ten at a time in the swimming pool, my bus captain reported our bus full of 26 people as “46.”  Later that night, when my bus captain came over to me to “praise the Lord,” I asked him why he lied.  He gave me a shocked look, and then said, “what do you mean, I lied?”  I told him that I counted no less than three times, and there were 26 people on that bus.  And he replied, “it looked like 46 to me!”  Then, he began to preach a little message about how I was quenching the spirit.

God used these and other things to begin to show me what was wrong with Hyles.  I’ll admit, I was not spiritually ready to leave yet, but these things were a start for me.  At the end of my first year at Hyles, my pastor and my dad came to pick me up.  They took me out to eat that afternoon, and told me that I would be leaving Hyles.  At the time, I did not know why.  My pastor, who was on the part-time staff of Hyles at the time, told me that all the allegations against Hyleshad been found to be true, told me of a taped interview with Paula Hyles that exposed what had happened, and told me that somewhere near 14 staff members had turned in their resignations, including himself.

My world was shattered, or so I thought.  Though I could see serious problems, I was not prepared to leave.  I went home that summer in the depths of despair and disappointment.  My parents told me that I would be enrolling in Fairhaven, and that I was not to argue or discuss it withanyone else.  My rebellion mounted, even though I had previously felt that this was what God wanted me to do.  Throughout that long, wretched summer, I sank deeper and deeper into rebellion, running from God in every way except with my feet.

From Hyles to Fairhaven

At the end of the summer, I bought a car and made the drive to Fairhaven.  I wanted nothing more than to get expelled as quickly as possible.  Thankfully, my rebellion had succeeded to unnerve me and turn me into an absolute weakling.  As I drove to Fairhaven, I drove right by the exit for Hyles-Anderson.  And as I passed the exit, I asked myself, “what are you doing!  All you need to do is to get off that exit right now, drive to the campus, and tell them that you are coming back anyway.”  But God wouldn’t let me exit.

From the time I arrived at Fairhaven until Thanksgiving, I wallowed in self-pity and passive rebellion.  And then, over that first Thanksgiving break, God did a work in my heart.  It has been my tradition since I was 16 to take a “Thanksgiving walk” on Thanksgiving morning.  That year, as I had for the few years prior, I got out of bed on Thanksgiving morning, pulled on my coat and hat and gloves, and started walking.  As I walked, my custom was to go through the events of the year, giving thanks for each thing that God did that year.  But as I walked on this Thanksgiving morning, I found myself complaining to God.  I complained about Fairhaven.  I complained about the rules.  I complained about my parents.  I complained about my pastor.  I complained about my friends.  Finally, after an hour of walking, I realized that I had not given thanks for one thing.  And worse yet, I realized that I did not want to say ‘thank you’ for anything. That Thanksgiving morning, God exposed my ungrateful heart, and rebuked me for my rebellion.  In that particular year, I never did get to the Thanksgiving part, but for the next hour, I wandered the streets near my house and confessed my sin to God, seeking His forgiveness.  And then, I began the long process of getting back to where I needed to be.

After that Thanksgiving, God drew me back to Himself.  My attitude changed, and I learned how richly God had blessed me in bringing me to Fairhaven Baptist College.  God used the love of the staff, the spirit of conviction, the genuineness of Preacher, and the power of God’s Word through the preaching of the Word to turn my heart back to the Lord.  I’ll not ever forget the debt of gratitude that I owe to them.  And I thank the Lord for Fairhaven Baptist Church, every day.

From Eeyore to Tigger

The story does not end there.  In fact, in some ways we could say that it just gets started there.  I met my wife the first day of school, at the school picnic.  Of course, I didn’t know that she was to be my wife.  No love at first sight story for me.  We were done with the picnicking, made it through the very painful “introductions” part, and were moving on to a choice between softball game or hike.  As I recall, I chose the hike because I thought it was my best chance to avoid talking to anyone.  And, for the most part, I was right.  Except that a group of girls walked up and introduced themselves to me.  I don’t remember who all was in the group, only that Belinda was.  And she kept on trying to talk to me.  Really annoyed the daylights out of me.  Finally, when she wouldn’t stop, I walked away, and worked very hard to avoid her for the rest of the day.  And for the most of the year as well.

Then, one day, I realized that I was spending an awful lot of time with this girl.  Guys would tease me about her, and along with that, about all the guys who were interested in her.  I kept hoping that one of them would latch on, but it was not to be.  Finally, I recognized that my friendship with her was too close.  Either I had to cut off the friendship, or marry her.

I married her.  What a blessing!  God has blessed us with five children, between the ages of 9 and 2.  I love them each, but I am especially grateful to God for blessing me with such a wonderful (and delicious) wife.  I rise up and call her blessed.

In my senior year of college, God really impressed on me that I should stick around for a couple of more years.  My home church had folded and no longer existed, and I had no other place to call home at the time.  So, I determined to take a couple more years before entering the ministry.  A few weeks after graduation, I asked Belinda to marry me, and a year later, in June of 1994, we were married.  We moved into a beautiful home about a mile off of Lake Michigan in the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, and we learned how to be married and like it.

From Indiana to Pennsylvania

Then, in May of 1996, we packed up the moving truck and moved to Central Pennsylvania, to help a pastor in a small country church.  The church provided us with an apartment, and we both took a job – my wife a full time job and I a part time job – so that I could dedicate my time to the ministry.  It was our first ministry, and we immediately fell in love with the work of the Lord.  We had a wonderful time teaching the teens, visiting them and encouraging them to come out to church, building up that segment of the church, and also helping out with the bus ministry.  But our success was to be short-lived.  The pastor’s wife grew increasingly jealous of our ministry, and within a couple of months, the pastor met with both my wife and me and told us that we didn’t like his wife.  We were surprised to hear this.  We had always thought that we liked her, but the pastor told us that we didn’t, so we went about the work of trying to be nice to her so that she would know that we did, in fact, like her.  Every week, my wife would ask the pastor’s wife if they could do something together, and every week, the pastor’s wife would promptly refuse.  Finally in November of that same year, the pastor met with me in his office and told me that he wanted me to leave by the end of the month.  We were not loving, he said, and we were constantly ignoring his wife.  And so, that was that.  I thanked him for telling us to leave, so that I would not have to make the decision to leave on my own.

About two weeks after the pastor asked us to leave, another pastor called us from York, Pennsylvania.  He was going through a difficult time in the church, and wondered if we would move over to help out.  We visited, found the mind of Christ on it, and decided that we should.  We arrived at the beginning of December that same year, in 1996.  Once again, the church provided us with an apartment, and I took a job while my wife taught in the small Christian school.  By February, it became very apparant that the pastor’s discouragement had defeated him, and I guessed (correctly) that he was about to resign.  The next month, he asked me to meet him in his office on Sunday morning before the service, and he informed myself and the assistant pastor that he would be resigning that night in the evening service, that he would leave afterwards and that we would not see him again.  With the pastor gone, the church made it obvious that they wanted us to leave too, which we decided to do in June of that year.

By this time, I was done.  It was all too obvious to me that God didn’t want me in the ministry.  I didn’t know how to find God’s will, or so I thought.  This was God’s way of showing me that I needed to be a good layman, and nothing more.  I determined to move my wife and I back to Chesterton, and to find a vocation that was more suitable to my work in the church.  But God had other plans.  I planned to move at the end of July, but the money simply was not there to make the move.  So, I delayed moving for another month.  During that time, I received numerous phone calls inviting me to serve in various ministries.  Although I did not want to go into another ministry, I agreed to seek the Lord’s face about each one.  And, one after another, God said no.  I was very happy with that.

From Pennsylvania to Utah

And then, one day about two weeks before our move, I received a call from Pastor Mark Short in Ogden, Utah.  Actually, my wife received the call.  When I arrived home from work that night, at around 9:00, my wife informed me that this pastor had called.  My first response was, “Ewtah?  What in the world is in Ewwtah?  What is he, some kind of Mormon?”  My wife replied that he was, in fact, a Baptist pastor, and that he wanted me to call him.  My second response was, “Well, it’s too late to call him now.”  But my wife reminded me that Utah was in the West, in a different time zone, and that it was only 7:00 there.  “Well, it’s too late for me to call him… ” I said.

I called him.  We talked.  The last thing I wanted was to go do the “new ministry dance” all over again.  And the very last thing I wanted was to do the “new ministry dance” in Ewwwtah.  To make a long story short, about a month later, I found myself, my wife, and our cat packed up in a moving truck, driving slowly across Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, and finally, three days and forty-some odd hours later, pulling up in Ogden, Utah.

School started a week after we arrived.  And for the first time in the ministry, I learned what it is to work for a pastor who loved me, who loved my family, who paid me a full salary and took care of me, who welcomed me into his home, and who had a flourishing, thriving church.  God used Pastor Short to heal us, to strengthen us, to equip us, and to build us into useful servants.

We arrived in Utah in August of 1997.  When we came, we both taught in the school.  By November of that same year, Pastor Short invited me to come on the pastoral staff, and with the church’s approval, I began to serve in the position of Assistant Pastor.  Then, in May of 2000, while I was preaching to our teens in a school assembly, God began to speak to me about becoming a pastor.  The thought scared me, surprised me, and angered me, in that precise order.  Who did I think I was, thinking I could be a pastor?  For that entire summer, I prayed about it every day.  Well, actually, I didn’t pray about it.  What I did was, I told God what a proud fool I was, thinking that I could be a pastor.  Every day, I confessed my sin of pride.  Every day, I begged God to change my wicked heart.  And then, one Fall day, God finally answered my prayer, by showing me that it was not, in fact, pride that made me want to be a pastor.  It was Him.

From Door #2 to Door #1

Soon after, I asked Pastor Short if I could talk to him in his office.  We sat down, and I told him what God had been showing me.  To my surprise, Pastor Short didn’t stand up, slam his fist into the desk, and say, “You want to do WHAT?”  He didn’t laugh either.  He didn’t say, “so what…”  He didn’t do any of those things that I kind of thought might happen.  Instead, Pastor Short cried.  Right there in his chair.  And then he told me that he knew that already.  And then, he said something that almost inspired me to stand up and shout, “You want me to do WHAT?”  He said that his prayer was that God would call him to the mission field, and that I would pastor Berean Baptist Church.

I staggered out of his office, and I determined that I was not telling anybody about that meeting.  Not even my wife.

A week or two later, I found myself back in Pastor Short’s office, and once again discussing what God wanted me to do.  I had peace that God wanted me to finish out the year, and go from there.  I really did not have a time line from God.  That was all fine.  Except that Pastor Short, once again, told me that his prayer was that God would have me pastor Berean.  “Great!”  I thought.

I finished out the year with little direction from God.  That year, I was camp director for our summer camp, which involved our church and several others.  And that week of camp was probably the worst week of camp ever experienced by Independent Baptist Camp.  I found out later that a group of teen boys came to camp determined to get kicked out.  Between dealing with those boys and the other duties of camp, I found myself spending hours on my knees in prayer for the week.  But all to no avail.  By the end of the week, I was forced to kick one boy out, and the spirit of the camp was entirely destroyed.  On the last night, I wandered out in the woods to pray one more time that God would somehow salvage the camp.  As I prayed, God made it very clear that he had given me such a rough week in order to get me alone.  And there, in the woods at our camp, God showed me that I was to leave Berean and seek a ministry.

I still had not ever talked to my wife about what God had been doing.  About a month later, in mid-August of 2001, my wife and I took a brief trip to Park City for a short get-away.  It was during that time that I told her what God had been saying to me.  We came back home, and a couple of days later, Pastor Short and his family left for Fiji.  Pastor Short never came back home, for God took him.

This was, of course, a very difficult time in my life.  When we had buried him, we formed a pulpit committee.  Two weeks later, the pulpit committee voted unanimously to call me as the tenth pastor of Berean Baptist Church.  And two weeks after that, the church voted to approve their recommendation.  That was seven years ago.

Since that time, God has enabled us to overcome our sorrow at the passing of Pastor Short, and has seen fit to prosper and bless the church.  We rejoice in his goodness.  Every sorrow, every heartache, every disappointment along the way, though difficult at the time, God meant for good.

What will the second half hold?  One can only wander.  But we can look back on all that God has done and say, with all our heart… The Lord is Good.