The Last Trumpet

I have just released my first piece of new writing since I retired on disability several years ago.  It is called "The Last Trumpet" and its purpose is to serve as a refutation of the pre-tribulation rapture theory.  It costs 99 cents at Amazon.com, only existing in digital format, but if you can't afford the price or don't have access to a Kindle reader, I'll send you a copy for free.  Just send me a note.

I am also at work on another similar project that I'm tentatively calling "Disease and Faith" that is kind of a summation of the things I've learned from my experiences with Parkinson's Disease, Crohn's Disease, and different expressions of faith.  If my past writing speed is any indication, look for it around the year 3000.

In the meantime, I hope to do a little better with these blog posts, particularly the Significant Passages and Acts of Worship ideas, and I may be getting into some musical posts as well, just having been blessed by the recovery of some songs that I wrote half a lifetime ago.  And finally, I hope to sometime finish "Owan's Regret," which is likely the final installment in my Hagenspan Chronicles series.  Thanks for the encouragement to keep on writing.  You know who you are, Harold!

A Biblical Perspective on Suffering

Once upon a time there was a successful businessman named Joseph B. Saintly.  He was remarkably well respected by both his peers and his employees.  He offered the finest low-cost health plan to his workers, and when they came up short, he paid their bills himself.  He was the director of The Saintly Foundation to Aid Widows and Orphans, and his anonymous gifts to other charities were thought to be almost scandalously generous.  Joseph B. Saintly was a good man, in all the ways people mean that word.

He had a wife Mildred, who occasionally disapproved of his generosity, but to whom he was utterly faithful.  He had a son Bill, who enjoyed the comfort provided by his father's wealth, but was by no means a playboy.  He had a daughter Jill, who had married well and was expecting Joseph B.'s first grandchild.  Mr. Saintly was a happy man.

He was a deacon in his local Baptist church, head of the building committee, teacher of the teenage boys' Sunday School class, and he provided scholarships for kids to go away to summer camp.  His views on religion were both orthodox and correct, focusing rightly on the glory of God, but not neglecting a life of good works.  Joseph B. Saintly was a faithful man.

Tap Shoes R Us

Thomas Fletcher was a man with an idea. Even more than that, he was a man with ambition: He wanted to be rich, and he wanted to be respected. Even more than that, he was a man who owned a pair of electric hedge clippers, which he had grudgingly lent to his no-account next-door neighbor, Bill Chatsworth. But I digress: Tom Fletcher had an idea, and he had ambition. What could possibly make him more money and gain him more renown than to become an internet millionaire? It seemed that everyone had heard of folks like Bill Gates and Steve Jobs, men who had discerned a vacuum in the American marketplace and rushed to fill it. All Thomas Fletcher needed was to find a similar void in the market, and then be there with the answer. After pondering these things for several months, and having stayed up late one night watching "Singing in the Rain," he believed he had identified his opportunity. He would become the world's leading internet provider of tap shoes. Who didn't love tap dancing? And Fletcher's subsequent research convinced him that that segment of the marketplace was deliciously under-represented.

First he had to acquire some capital, something that turned out to be even easier than he had naively expected. For the famous venture capitalist Barton Sizemore had long practiced the strategy of occasionally investing in something that sounded so bizarre, so strange, so out-of-left-field that it just might work. And if it did work, the payoff would be colossal. So Sizemore agreed to loan Fletcher the tidy sum of one million dollars for a half-share in his profits, with the provision that if the business wasn't as lucrative as hoped, the million dollars would be repayable at the end of a year's time.

Thomas Fletcher was elated. "Tap Shoes R Us" was about to become a reality! First, using part of the money, he bought himself a new car; it wouldn't do for an internet mogul to be seen driving around in Fletcher's rusty old bucket of bolts. Secondly, he paid to have his house painted and a swimming pool installed in his back yard. Finally, the frugal entrepreneur invested the remainder of the loan into inventory, purchasing tap shoes of every size, style, and color. His garage was soon full to overflowing with box after box of shiny metal-tipped shoes.

Regarding Parables

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(It would be helpful if, before you read the sermon that follows, you take a moment to read Matthew 13:1-17.)

Most of the time, when we gather to hear a sermon, what we receive generally falls into one of two categories. Either we receive instruction about how to make the principles of the gospel practical in our day-to-day lives, or we are given some kind of teaching designed to help us understand some of the more obscure points of doctrine or theology. On a good day we get both.

What our preachers and teachers do for us is take the tough, hard-to-swallow pieces of our religion, grind them up for us and spit them back out in little, easy-to-digest portions that we can more readily handle as our own spiritual food. (I know this doesn't sound too flattering or appealing.)

Think of a nest full of baby birds. The mother bird flies down to the earth and nabs a worm, partially digests it, and then flies back to the nest, where she regurgitates it into the throats of her children, and they receive the nourishment they need.

Don't get stalled by the analogy. The point is, when we hear a sermon, we are usually getting something that has been designed to help us understand the finer points of religion, something that has been carefully prepared to increase the understanding of all who hear.

That is not how Jesus preached.

Bella and the Prince of Spices

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Once upon a time, there was a slender young girl named Bella. She was very poor, and all she had to eat was a daily portion of watery, tasteless gruel. Day after day, she would sit at the table with her bowl before her, dreaming of nothing so much as a spoonful of sugar to sweeten the taste of her meal.

"Oh, for a bit of sweetness," she sighed. "If I only had a pinch of sugar, how happy I would be." She said this to herself every day, not remembering to be thankful for the gruel's nourishment, only resenting its blandness.

One day, there came a knock at her door: rap, rap, rap! Scurrying to answer it, she found a smiling, whiskered man there, clad in a beggar's rags.

"Yes?" Bella asked politely.

The man stepped into her small room with a grin and a bow. "I am the Prince of Spices! I have come in answer to your prayers!"

The Prince of Spices? Bella had never heard of such a thing! He certainly didn't look like a prince, and she said so.

"Ah, but appearances may deceive!" he winked. "Your Ladyship's wish?" And with that he reached into the folds of his rags, and produced a little paper packet filled with a brownish powder. "Where is your porridge?" he asked. She pointed to the table, and the Prince of Spices opened the packet, drew out just a pinch of the powder, and stirred it into the gruel.

"There!" he cried triumphantly. "Taste and see!"