God the Father Has Children, Not Customers

Maybe I’m just easily bugged. But the presently popular slow-down at fast food restaurants bugs me.


You see, I know what I want when I go to a fast food drive-through. And one of the things I want is for it to be fast. And I readily admit, most of the time, the speed is pretty impressive.


Did I mention that I know what I want when I go through a drive-through? I also know what I don’t want. I don’t want to be slowed down by the voice on the speaker asking me if I want stuff I don’t want.


“Hi, would you like a rich, creamy hot chocolate?”


“No, what I’d really like is for you to quit trying to sell me something I don’t want so I can get down to the business of telling you what I do want. I’m already here. I’m planning to buy something from you. And I will buy stuff if you’ll please be quiet and let me do it. I’ll also be a lot happier with my purchase and actually want to come back again if you’ll drop the annoying pre-sale sales pitch.”


That’s not the way I answer, but it’s the way I’d like to answer. It’s probably all there in the tone of my “No,” but there’s no point in my being testy. These folks are just doing what they’re told they have to do. And by now at my favorite coffee oasis, most of them know me and know what I want when they hear my voice. They’re nice folks. I like them and don’t want to be a jerk.


But I don’t like the sales pitch. It must “work” or the folks in charge wouldn’t be making their employees do it. I just really wish they’d quit doing it.


Which is one reason why I like to order inside. No pre-sale sales pitch. At least, not yet.


By the way, I guess those automated telephone answering systems so many companies use these days “work,” too, but customers hate them, and companies that care about their customers should care about what their customers hate. Please press 7 if you agree.


Recently I even discovered one fast food place proudly advertising on their menu that I’d get a free drink if their person on the raspy speaker forgot to ask me if I wanted to order something that I didn’t want. That surprised me. Not only am I not in the least offended if they forget to make their sales pitch, I’d actually be willing to pay more if they’d not make it.


My being bugged about this probably won’t change anything. I just need to get over being bugged.


But I’d almost be surprised if some consumer-driven mega-churches aren’t already considering something similar. You sit down at the pew, connect your cell phone via BluePewTooth, and get the options. “Take 5% off your tithe if we forget to ask if you prefer traditional or contemporary. Punch 4 if you’d like to check out a DVD player so Pastor Billy Bob (who doesn’t know your name) can deliver a heartfelt and personal prayer at your surgery via the plastic screen. By the way, would you like to upgrade to a plusher pew? Press 5.”


I’m glad God considers me a child and not a customer.





Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

"Be Afraid! Be Very Afraid!'

Recently I decided that it might be interesting to start making a list—a list of the things the media tell us we should be afraid of.


If you focused just on the morning shows in a two week period, I’m betting you’d find that on every day, multiple times more often than not, the morning news folks help us start our day by informing us of something new to scare us.


You know what I mean. Supposed news items about how, though we’ve been told that some herbal supplements are good for you, now somebody has found that most of them contain stuff like lead or arsenic or pesticides.


Or . . . things like Granola cereal and vegetable juice are good for you, right? No, they’re scary. Granola cereal is packed with calories. One can of vegetable juice has more than a quarter of a whole day’s allotment of salt.


Baby cribs will eat your baby.


Coffee is bad for you. No, wait for ten minutes and in come the reports that coffee is very good for you. I believe the latter. But since moderation is the key, I’m hoping to cut down to two pots a day. Just call me a health nut.


Car seats properly installed save lives. True, but the vast majority of them aren’t properly installed (since most of us don’t have Ph.D’s and the dadgum things are complicated). So thousands of children are at risk.


Kids are being snatched in shopping malls and grocery stores at alarming rates. Well, any is too many, but, actually, no, the rate is, thankfully, very low.


Two fairly recent “Be afraid! Be very afraid!” stories that are my own favorites are these: 1) American children are not being taught to be assertive enough. Right. Have the researchers ever actually met any American children?! 2) Short people (guys less than 5’5” and gals less than 5’0”) have a 50% increased chance of heart disease. So are they supposed to think tall thoughts? Or are we all, short or tall, just supposed to “Be afraid! Be very afraid!” and be depressed, too?


Evidently so.


Pastor Thomas Lindberg says that, according to the stats, Americans average swallowing 9 tons of sleeping pills and another 15 tons of aspirin every day. Our nation has only 4 percent of the world’s population, but we consume 96 percent of the world’s tranquilizers.


A physician friend told me that in his town, half the populace is on antidepressants. No, wait. What he actually said is that half the pastors in his town are on antidepressants. These are the folks who preach regularly about peace. Since I’m a pastor, that stat caught my attention.


By the way, I’m told that studies also show that 80% of those who enter the professional ministry these days will last in ministry less than five years. And I can only imagine how stressful life must be for the rest of you who don’t have such a cushy job and work more than one day a week!


I need to sign off and go take my Paxil, but before I do, I might just encourage you to pay less attention to the “Be afraid! Be very afraid!” stuff on tomorrow’s morning show. And I’m gonna forget making the list I mentioned. I think I’d be better occupied by making a much weightier list of all the reasons God gives me to focus on him and drink deeply of his joy.





Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Don't Forget to Let Your Balloon Go!

Bruce Larson tells of a conference at a Presbyterian church in Omaha. As the story goes, people were given helium-filled balloons and told to hold them until a time came in the service when they experienced joy in their hearts. At that point, they could just let go of their balloons as a visible sign of that joy.


That’s kind of a neat idea, but I thought of some problems.


The first is that Mondays tend to follow Sundays, and, unless you hold the service outdoors, somebody’s gonna walk through the church sanctuary on Monday morning and realize, “Wow! We’ve gotta find a way to get these balloons down.” The most enjoyable way is a BB gun. But I think I’d just leave them awhile as a tribute to the joy experienced right there!


The second problem is that people are not like birds. When some species of birds go to sleep and their little bird talon/feet relax, they relax closed. That’s good if you need to sleep holding onto something like a branch. But when people sleep and their hands relax, they relax open. That means that, although this is hard to believe, a few folks might actually release their balloons due to sleepiness and not joy, and that could produce confusion.


Not even close to everybody who nods off in church is grinchy, but I can imagine a situation where ol’ Brother Grinch or Sister Sneeralot who everybody knows didn’t smile at their own weddings are sitting there holding their balloons when they are overtaken by sleep. (Grinchiness is not only tiresome, it’s tiring.) Suddenly their balloons are rising toward the ceiling and the congregation gasps in surprise and confusion!


The other problem I see is the one Larson says they really faced. These folks are Presbyterians, not “charismatics.” As my own tradition has Presbyterian roots, I understand them. We can, for example, raise our hands in worship, but it’s kinda hard for us, and you folks from Methodist and Baptist backgrounds understand the problem and share it. We could, I suppose, be so moved that we holler out in worship, “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” but we’re probably more likely to suffer some sort of coronary thrombosis from a deep vein clot caused by inactivity in the pew.


Letting a balloon go to express joy is a bit of a public act of emotion. Even if we resolved to cast caution to the wind and actually release our balloon when we felt joy, we’d probably analyze it to death. We’d wonder if we’d really experienced enough joy to actually let the balloon go, or if it was just gas from last night’s barbecue, or . . . and then, suddenly the service is over and we’ve still got our balloon, and then what?


Well, that’s the problem the Presbyterians ran into. Throughout the service balloons were rising just as they’d hoped, but then it was over, and more than a third of the balloons were still in the hands of worshipers who’d not gotten over the bar joy-wise. And that’s kinda sad, when you think about it.


Ah, there is a time to quit analyzing and just let your balloon go! Our God is the Source of Joy!






Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

It's Time to Come Home to the Father!

One of the best books I’ve read in a long time centers on one of the best stories of all time. The story is Jesus’ “Parable of the Prodigal Son,” and the book, which helped me see that great parable more clearly than ever before, is Timothy Keller’s The Prodigal God.


You know the story. One amazing Father. (I’m using a capital “F.” We know who he is!) Two sons. And Keller reminded me that their story really is our story. The ways those two sons try to cope with the mess humanity is in are the basic ways our race has always tried to cope with the fact that there is a moral law God built into this universe, and we break it and can’t measure up. The two ways? To disregard the law. Or to lie to ourselves and others about our keeping it.

The younger son decides to find fulfillment by going his own way, disregarding the law, thumbing his nose at “right and wrong,” turning his back on his Father and doing whatever he wishes. His approach has always been popular. At first, it’s fun.


But there’s another son, an older brother. He looks for fulfillment in being “good.” He spends a lot of time at the synagogue, a lot of time with others who are also seeking fulfillment in religious rule-keeping so that they can fool themselves together, majoring on being “right” about ritual and rule-keeping. He and his partners in “do it yourself” righteousness will focus on external “laws,” both God’s and the ones they make up that are easier to keep than God’s. He, and they, will be scrupulously “religious” and look down on others who aren’t.


But don’t fall for his game. He doesn’t keep the law either, no matter how loudly and self-righteously he claims to. He stands condemned by the law he thinks is his salvation. He’s every bit as lost and far away from his Father as his brother was back in the pig pen. The younger “I don’t care about the law” brother may stink like pigs, but the older “I’m such a good law-keeper I can hardly stand myself” brother has a different but disgusting stink about him, too. Apart from the Father, both are headed for death. The difference is that the young son has come home. The older son who thinks he never left, is in serious danger indeed. The younger son has placed his faith in the Father and headed in to the feast. But the older son?


You see, the good news of the Gospel is that real fulfillment is found in loving the Father and having a relationship with him. And we have the best elder Brother of all, God’s Son, who through his death on the cross pardons us and through the power of the Resurrection empowers us, and he leads us in to the great feast of the Father.


What a Brother! What a Father! And what a parable! What a great story for non-Christians to ponder as they learn that they have a loving Father. What a great story for Christians to meditate on to remind them whose children they are. And as its truth becomes healing balm for the soul, what a great story for “recovering” Christians, folks sickened and hurt by elder-brother “religion.”


It’s time for all of us to come home. Home to the Father.





Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

God Is Making "All Things New"!

Christians serve a God who is making “all things new.”


In the “Revelation,” the Apostle John contrasts the new heaven and the new earth with the old heaven and old earth that, he says, will pass away. He sees a new city, the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven prepared for her God like a bride coming down the aisle, adorned for her husband.


When the Apostle John was writing the words of Revelation, he wrote in Greek. I think it was William Barclay who reminded me that John had two choices for the word we translate into English as “new.” The simplest was “neos,” which means “new in time,” “most recent.” We still use that word in many of our own. For example, a neonatal unit in a hospital is the part of the hospital caring specifically for newborns. But “neos” is not the word the apostle uses.


When he records the words of the King of the universe, saying, “I am making all things new,” the word John uses is “kaine,” which means “new in quality.” It’s not just the latest thing, it’s the best thing.


On the desk near the computer in my study sits an old Underwood Number Five typewriter. Both machines can help me put words on a page. But when I compare that old Underwood Number Five typewriter and my computer, I’m not just comparing something that is old chronologically with something that is much newer. Yes, the computer is newer in “age,” but it is also a “new thing,” new in quality and far better.


For about ten minutes after I got my first computer, I was like some other old fossils I’ve heard talk about writing books or columns or sermons, who said they just felt that actually writing with a pen on paper was something they’d want to continue to do even if they had a computer available. There was, they said, just something about putting the pen in hand and writing on the paper that was integral to their writing. For ten minutes, I thought there might be something to that, and then I started lining up words on the computer. Now I think I’d be nuts to prefer scratch outs and mark-outs, crumpled up pages lying around my chair.


Not everything “new” is better, but I admit that the computer is better than the old Underwood Number Five. It is not just “neos,” new in time, it is “kaine,” new—new in quality.


Christians, of all people, should understand this. For years, God’s people had been offering animal sacrifice, following ritual regulations, but when the real Lamb came, the “Lamb who was slain,” all of that was no longer needed. The perfect Lamb had come and the perfect sacrifice was made once for all for all time.


When Jesus comes into this world, lives for us, dies for us, and is raised to new life, he brings all who love him and follow him in faith into that “kaine” new, new in quality, life, and we relate to God in what we call the “new” covenant, ratified through the blood of his Son, on the basis of faith. That covenant is “kaine” new. It’s completely new and unimaginably better than the old.


Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

For Those Who Trust in God, There Is Always Hope

The son of some dear friends of mine lost his battle last week. The family feels defeated.


It had been a long battle. For two decades, this young man had fought a battle with drugs. One night this week his much-abused body gave up. And now his family, long used to dealing with the pain of the battle and a terrible kind of grief, is left to deal with grief of yet another sort.

I ache for them.

It’s hard enough to watch a loved one being torn apart in life. But as long as there is life, there is at least perhaps a glimmer of hope. And now?

Now I long for them to know that there is still hope.

The Psalmist assures us that “weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” At all times of death, tears overtake us for many nights until, one day, the slightest glimmer of light begins to shine through clouds that have seemed impenetrably dark. There will always be an empty place, but after what seems like an eternity, one day we will wake up and our first thought will not be of our loved one’s absence; it will be again of what remains to us that is still good.

Death always hurts. Healing always takes time.

But what is more difficult about a situation such as this, a situation sadly repeated in our world every day, is that people often wonder if there really is any room for ultimate hope.

Yes, there is! Because God is good and because God is love, there is always room for hope.

I’m not a “universalist.” God paid a terrible price to save us. It hurts him more than we can imagine if we refuse to accept his love. Free will is his gift to us, and the choice he gives us is real. Through his tears, God will allow us to make the wrong one.

But just because a person fights a terrible battle with obvious evil for decades does not mean he has turned his back on God. In fact, he may see far more clearly than most of us that his only hope is God’s love and God’s power.

The good news is not that God saves good people. In fact, the more spiritually mature a person is, the more he realizes how bad he is.

We are not saved by how good we are. Certainly, not by how good we look. We who look religious may not be “trying” half as hard as a person who looks far less shiny.

The gospel is not what we often think. It is not that God saves good people and bad people are lost. We are all bad.

The good news of the Gospel is that God saves those who trust his Son. No matter how many times we fall and how terribly we fail. As long as we trust.

We are not good. The best sons in our world can go terribly astray. The very best parents can feel like failures. And any of us who think we can afford to be haughty are blind and headed for a fall.

But God had a perfect Son who paid the price for us all. God is the best Father. For all who trust Him and look up, from a pit or even from a pew, there is always hope, here and hereafter.




Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

The Birds Are Singing and the Grass Is Turning Green

I hear that it’s beautiful outside today, though I’ve not had much chance to find out for myself just yet. Lately, any day wind gusts are below 50 mph might easily pass for beautiful.

Yes, the birds are singing. The grass is turning green. And spring is in the air.

It’s really depressing.

You know what all this means, don’t you?

It means that though you’ve been able to take some wicked pleasure in the fact that all your friends with those verdant and hyperactive blue grass/fescue mix lawns have been mowing for a month now, while you were doing something useful like reading a good book, drinking coffee, or riding your motorcycle . . . well, now even your trusty Bermuda grass lawn is giving up and turning green. And that means you, too, will be chained for half a day a week to a lawn mower for the next several months.

Though I bear fruit trees no ill will, I’d sort of been hoping for a late cold spell to set my yard back. Alas, it’s almost time to start setting out plants. And that means dragging out the garden hoses, watering, weeding, weed-eating, etc.

I really like the way a nice green well-kept lawn looks. I like to grow plants. More accurately, I like to watch God grow the plants we both try to water.

I love the way a freshly mown lawn looks and smells. I’m still basking in the glow from the request one young lady made a year or two ago. She and her fiance (strangers to us) had driven by, and then turned around, and she asked if they could have some engagement pics taken in our yard. I’m still amazed. I can’t believe she could drive so well, obviously blind with no seeing eye dog at the wheel. No one will be asking to take pictures in our yard this week, I’m quite sure.

I know. Before the season’s over, the yard won’t look all that bad. It’ll look best right after each mowing. But that’s what bugs me. “Each” mowing.

When I fix something that’s broken, I like to think it might stay fixed for a nanosecond or two. Once all this springtime green machine really gets going, my lawn stays “fixed” for barely a week, then here we go again.

Okay, I admit it.

Once we get into the yard slave routine, I really do take some pleasure in the green grass and colorful flowers. I like to flop down in the green grass and look at clouds with my granddaughters.

It’s getting started that’s hard. Each year, I get dragged to the lawn mower and the garden hose kicking and screaming. Winter is so winsome. Fireplaces. Hot tea. Sweaters. Snow. Christmas. Books.

It’s not all wasted time. I end up writing sermons and columns in my head while I chase the lawn mower.

Life is always precious and beauty is never a waste. Our black-clad Puritan ancestors were whistling in the wind. God’s color and joy always win in the end. And that I like.


Copyright 2010 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.