A Reflection from A Song for Nagasaki

Moses built an altar and called it The LORD is my Banner.  Exodus 17:15

Standing in a place of victory, Moses built an altar and worshipped in the aftermath of a new revelation of God. The success was the defeat of the Amalekites by Israel's troops, which Joshua led. This battle was critical because it was the nation's first time in combat. God himself destroyed Pharaoh and his army of chariots when he allowed the heaped-up waters of the Red Sea to return to their place. He revealed himself differently on this occasion.

The staff had been for Moses a sign of the Lord's presence and power. During the day-long battle against the Amalekites onslaught, Moses held his staff above his head with the help of Aaron and Hur so that Israel could prevail. Perhaps as a rallying point or even a communication tool, the staff became a flagpole of sorts, and Joshua's troops won the field. As an act of worship, Moses built an altar at that spot and named it Jehovah Nissi, which means "the Lord is my banner." Historically, flags and banners are important symbols. In our past, when battlefield visuals were limited to eyesight alone, flags were indispensable. 

A Song for Nagasaki is the story of Dr. Takashi Nagai, an early pioneer in X-ray technology who, while afflicted with Leukemia due to exposure to x-ray radiation, survived the atomic bomb explosion at Nagasaki. Raised in Shintoism, Nagai was a convert to Catholicism. He became a national hero of sorts as he bore witness to the love and forgiveness of God following the horrific nuclear tragedy. On August 9, 1945, at 11:02 am, Nagai was at work, preparing to deliver a lecture at the university hospital when the bomb exploded one-half mile away. Eighty percent of those in the teaching hospital instantly perished. Fortunately, Nagai and some other nurses and doctors were in a part of the building facing away from the blast, enabling them to survive the initial explosion, fire, and falling structures. They moved away from the dangerous debris and began to treat the injured around them without medicine or clean bandages. In a city of two hundred thousand, over seventy thousand died instantly. Destruction of life was unparalleled.

As blast survivors, shattered and badly burned, began to climb into the light of day, their first thought was to get to the hospital for help. They did not realize the hospital was no longer standing, and the shell that did remain intact was burning as the bomb had ignited fires throughout the harbor city. Glynne writes: 

"…he (Dr. Nagai) looked around and saw all semblance of organization

beginning to disintegrate. More people were pouring in from the city below,

thinking they could get relief if they made it to the big hospital complex.

Nothing was further from the truth."

The doctors and nurses were overwhelmed and began to display panic-stricken faces. They couldn't offer assistance for everyone, and as the Head Nurse Hisamatsu said,

"' Suddenly, it all seemed utterly

beyond us, and we started to lose our nerve.' At that point, Nagai

shouted: 'Quick, find a Hi no Maru," which is the Japanese flag. He

directed the command to young Dr. Okura, who could not think of anything

as inconsequential right then as a flag! He went through the motions of

looking for one in the few places, not on fire and reported back: "It's

impossible to find one." Nagai looked at a piece of a white sheet as it blew

toward him. He snatched it up, tore it into a square, pulled the blood-soaked

bandage from his head and squeezed and dabbed blood into the center,

making a rough circle of red. Several others added blood

 from their wounds, and lo! The Japanese flag.

Nagai ordered Okura (who later became a Catholic Priest) to tie the

homemade flag to a thick bamboo pole above them."

Many years later, one witness recalled, "Suddenly we had a headquarters to rally around, a center that put order back into the picture." 

While our present outlook is undoubtedly different, it is at the same time one that begs for order. As our world spins, it seems that pieces are slinging off. We are not in panic mode, but we need more urgency. Interestingly, Dr. Nagai saw the Urakami region of Nagasaki (which had a sizeable Christian population) as a sacrificial offering to end the war, thereby saving millions of other lives. 

We need bold and heroic action today as so much is at stake. Jesus has made the ultimate sacrifice and sealed it with his blood. He needs battlefield flag bearers who will not let the enemy trample upon their colors. Let's make sure we lift the Banner high no matter what the cost. 

By Myself but Never Alone

The heavy frost crackled under our feet as we made our way into the unpainted wooden house. I would have thought it abandoned if it weren’t for the small stream of smoke coming from the mouth of a crooked old chimney whose bricks were acting like an older man’s teeth. The gaps in and around the door and the lack of an enclosed foundation meant that the little ram shackled structure was one that breathed. The problem, of course, was that at nine o’clock on this December morning breathing the freezing air was the opposite of what anyone wanted to do.

As we entered I felt that I might fall through the weak wood flooring but quickly forgot about falling as I surveyed the one-room house. A coal-burning stand-alone heat and cookstove were to the left of the room’s center and a single bed to the right of center with a wooden kitchen chair beside. The only other furnishings were some wooden drink crates stacked up beside the head of the bed and between it and the heater. As I looked in the dimly lit room, I still could not see a person on the small mattress piled high with quilts but assumed there was someone there, alone.

What immediately grabbed my attention even more than the sparse furnishings were the walls of the house. They had no insulation or sheetrock and were covered only with old yellow newspapers. The thin layer of the newsprint allowed the cracks and holes in the board to allow the sun and the cold entrance in the little room. 

What brought my companion and me to the little shack that morning was an internship for a master's level course in Guidance and Counseling. This particular class had as a requirement that I work with a Social Services Caseworker for a week. The little house in the country was our first stop on the first day of the caseworker's weekly rounds. I had not prepared myself for the heartbreak of what I saw. As my supervisor gently spoke to the tiny person under the old quilts, I worried at the stove, which had warped over time allowing me to see glowing red embers peaking out of the heating chamber. On top of the potbellied stove was an opened can of beans and a small pot with water. The pintoes were for lunch, and the water to humidify the air in the room. On the stack of crates was a plastic spoon. The caseworker explained that the occupant’s grown son made sure his eighty-year-old mother had fire in her stove and something to eat before he went to work each day. She lived alone and spent her days as well as her nights in bed.

Peaking out from under the covers was the frail body of the house's owner. She had experienced many freezing nights alone. Between the wrap on her head and the blankets, a could see a deeply creased face, deep-set eyes, and a mouth sparsely occupied by teeth. “I’m all right,” she said when the gentle voice of the care worker asked how she was doing and if she needed anything. The county employee introduced me as I leaned in over the bed to get a closer look. “This is Mr. Rick Collins. He is a pastor from Chester and is studying at the University.”

Her ears seemed to prick as she tried to focus on my face and said, “Chester. And you a preacher?” “Yes, mam,” I replied. My next words were standard pastor issue. “May I pray for you?” 

She answered more firmly this time, “Yes, please.” Along with my supervisor, I prayed and in my prayer, I prayed that God would protect her as she spent her days alone. As I said, “Amen,” in conclusion, she looked thoroughly at me with a look that might have been accompanied by taking my cheeks in her weathered old hands if she had been able. I had seen the look many times over the years when an older person with great reflection gave you a piece of their personal experience. “By myself,” she said, and then with even more strength, her frail voice lifted, “never alone!  That is the story of God’s people small and great. We many times are by ourselves but never alone!

In all their distress he too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them. In his love and mercy he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old. Isa. 63:9

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. James 1:27

As Foreigners and Strangers

“We are foreigners and strangers in your sight, as were all our ancestors.” 1 Chronicles 29:15

From the top let me say this little thought has nothing directly to do with the current debate over immigration and hopefully its reform. I am not making a statement as to whether we should or should not have a barrier. These words are neither liberal nor conservative as those designations presently represent political parties. I find myself both at different times for different causes. We need an equitable immigration policy as well as secure borders so that we can continue to be a welcoming nation. I will leave the border to our government to manage, but the strangers and aliens of the world are under a higher law. They belong to God.

            I ask you to join me today to pray for the world’s refugees, especially those who are poor and who may be fleeing for their lives. I live in the most conservative section of our great country. I have grown up around people who have loved and devoted themselves to one of the cornerstones of our faith and society, the family. These men and women would tangle with a bear before they let something happen to their huddle. It threatened, they would fight; if they were hungry they would get an additional job if they could, in order to provide. And if there was a better place, one that offered safety (or school) for their children and plenty for all, they would grab their backpacks and go.

       I well remember when in the sixties the textile factories in the south went into serious decline due to international manufacturing and my mom and dad discussed moving to Australia for job opportunities. We didn’t go but would have if needed. The fact is, I don’t know any good men in my part of the world who wouldn’t cross deserts, climb mountains, or face intolerable and dangerous situations at foreign borders in order to make their family safe and secure. That is a large part of the American spirit and I pray that we don’t one day face those conditions which may force us to flee the land we love!

       I am concerned that many of those trying to come into our land have become faceless to us. We don’t recognize their faith, their love for family, or their need for safety as driving forces behind what they do. They are becoming a part of a bigger story which doesn’t match who they are. They are not all gangsters or drug mules. If they had money, they would fly in for vacation and get lost in this great country of ours, or come in for educational purposes. But they don’t, so they walk or ride in the back of trucks at risk of their lives. They are not our enemies. Please pray for them. If they cannot enter into our country pray that the violence and poverty of their countries will change so they can remain in peace. If we cannot pray, we are in danger of losing our souls.

But please remember this, “We are foreigners and strangers in your sight, as were all our ancestors.”  That is Israel’s testimony. The history of all the world is the same. It is a history of people movement. Famine, drought, flood, pestilence, repression, and sword have kept the world's population on the move throughout the years. Jesus identified with every stranger and alien as Joseph led his family down into Egypt in the face of Herod’s threats. He identified with them and with us so that we all might be incorporated into his plan of redemption.

Peter writes to the church taking note of their plight by saying, “Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles… “ 1 Peter 2:10

Dear friends, as fellow foreigners and exiles, please, put a face on those with whom Jesus identified by praying for them and asking God to bless and protect them as they journey to a better place. And may God Bless the United States of America!

Belonging to a Local Church Congregation

Belonging to a church does limit a person’s choices in some ways but it also enhances his or her prospects to actually grow in covenant faithfulness. Not being committed gives people an illusion of freedom, control, and excitement but ultimately leaves them empty. As in free love, which is a short-lived worship of personal freedom, an individual can be joined to “any” or “many” but the deep longing of heart and steady discipline of mind will be left unfulfilled. The freedom to shop daily for experiences that titillate and weekly for entertainment venues which enthrone personal desires, will absolutely retard knowledge of the God who compares his people to “tree(s) planted by streams of water...” His children will flourish because they are rooted in streams of His presence and planted by Him into the ground of His grace.

In the seventies a common phrase among Christians was, “bloom where you are planted.” Today we may want to change that to say, “you will bloom, if you are planted.”

A Merry Little Christmas

 I don’t seem to hear it as much as I did when I was much younger, but the words, “Did you have a big Christmas?”, remain with me as the season draws near. I never liked them. Those words seemed to measure the holiday I loved in the wrong way and begged for comparisons that would only leave someone feeling as if he were less than others. Growing up, our Christmases were never big as far as number of gifts. We always had presents, but it was, at times, difficult for Mom and Dad to do very much gift giving. I still remember going with Mom to make payments on her layaways and with dad to the Rock Hill Printing and Finishing Annual Christmas Party to pick up an amazing bag of company-supplied toys, but Christmas was never really…“big”.

I’m glad it wasn’t. I learned to love and appreciate the little things, simpler times, and the love of family. I even treasured the small brown paper bag containing fruit and hard candy that I received at our church on the Sunday before Christmas every year. Twenty years ago, I observed a church as it attempted to return to those days by giving out similar treats on a Sunday. The kids who received them used the apples and oranges as hand-thrown projectiles in the parking lot when the service was over. They didn’t appreciate little or small and probably would have been equally unimpressed by a baby lying in a feeding trough!

I’m afraid that our love for “big” holidays, over-the-top decorations, and humongous events has missed the point of the humility of Jesus’ birth. He has entered humanity by “emptying” Himself so that His rich treasure would not scare away the humble and the poor. That truth has been verified at His birth announcement with the admonition to…“Fear not!”

About her part in this wonderfully unfolding drama, Mary said:

“He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
⁵² He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
⁵³ He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.” Luke 1:51-53

There are no large or fancy trappings in Judea.  No big Christmas is mentioned as happening there. The proud, the rulers, and the rich are not the recipients of God’s favor. It is the humble, the poor, and the hungry who are favored on the night of His birth. It is the ordinary shepherd who first hears the angelic proclamation and responds to its invitation. Today, it is for us to make ourselves small through understanding our weakness, admitting our poverty, and humbly bowing before this animal feeding trough to worship Him.

Where will He be found this Christmas? Jesus lodges with the sick and hurting, with the poor outcast, and with those who have had the darkness to blot out their hope. He still finds His home with the ordinary and the humble. Go there, and “have yourself a merry little Christmas!”

                                                                   HATE HAS NO END

My dad wasn’t a preacher or a teacher, but he surely knew how to get a message across in a powerful and unforgettable way. On a Sunday when I was a young boy, he piled my two brothers and me into our car.  After five minutes on dirt and blacktop, we stopped at a house that was familiar to us all. Each Christmas, we would go there to share a portion of the gifts we received from Rock Hill Printing and Finishing Company’s annual RPFC Employee Christmas Party. The inhabitants of this house were Black, and they were our friends.

As we departed the vinyl seats of our Chevy, I immediately noticed a strange sight which I began to understand as the purpose of our short road trip. In the front yard of the small frame house was a large wooden cross wrapped in burlap and smoldering. I really didn’t understand what I was seeing. The cross was sacred in our home. My mom was raised in a devout Catholic home in Panama, and the crucifix was always displayed in her bedroom…and my dad loved to play his guitar and sing about “The Old Rugged Cross” upon which Jesus died.

But our dad had not brought us to see a mere curiosity. His desire was to teach us a lesson about hatred. Instructing us to look at the smoking wooden beams, he said, “I want you to see what hate looks like. This kind of hate doesn’t know how to stop until it has destroyed everything. Those who hate will hate you because of your mom just as they hate themselves.” With that, we loaded back into the car and returned home. I don’t remember ever again talking about what we had seen that day.  We got the message.

My prayer for our nation is that we will all get the message about the never-ending cycle of hatred, violence, and retribution and how it eats at the core of who we are as human beings. It is Satan’s work to deface the image of God in man and to erase every trace of His goodness. Racism and bigotry does that work of diminution in every form of its manifestation.

I am a believer in Jesus Christ, an American, and a son of the South. This is not that for which we were created! Born and raised in South Carolina and presently a resident of Georgia, I acknowledge our historical failures especially as they relate to racial sin.

Last Fall, I reminded a gathering of our ministers that slavery and racial injustice were never meant to be a part of our heritage.  Between 1735 and 1750, Georgia was the only American colony to ban slavery. This decision was led by General James Oglethorpe who opposed it (and opposed rum) on moral and economic grounds after having witnessed first-hand the devastation caused by the prisons for English debtors and the evil slave trade. Simply put, Oglethorpe believed that slavery and drinking rum made men “sorry” which down South referred to those who were inferior in quality or less than persons or things should potentially be.

Oglethorpe’s dream for a free state of Georgia, an American dream of equality, was far from perfect and, sadly, did not last. Like Eden, it was lost to us. That fact left us, in many respects, less than we should potentially have been.

I implore you!  Let us dream and work together for a better and brighter day…a day when hatred, violence, and injustice no longer rule our minds and ruin our hearts.

 

Coffee Shop or Cave?

I grew up in a time that was pretty much devoid of formal leadership training. The first book I read on leadership was “Spiritual Leadership” by Oswald Sanders and the second, “Leadership” by Hudson T.  Armerding, both of which were studies in the spirituality of the leader and were wholly unlike today’s “marketing principles and strategies for pastors.” I am saying this so that you will understand part of the framework from which my thoughts are drawn. Secondly, as a naturally occurring introvert (and a role forced extrovert) I confess I like quiet. When home alone, I watch most football games without any sound on the television! With that I am not saying that what I know or think is better. My only claim is that my viewpoint may need to be considered.

A huge part of pulpit ministry is the time you and I spend in preparation. Preparation is a combination of illumination that comes with flash of a lightning bolt and process which requires prevailing prayer and dogged determination. Preparation time is moody and often times fraught with sensitivity. Little things can mess it up easily and if the faithful pastor is not careful he may attach “game day” routines and superstitions to his attempts at hearing the voice of God. It is a big deal, and not just because of the looming fear of crashing and burning. There is also the “little” thing of eternal destiny and earth shattering importance attached to what we do and I do not believe that is an oversell!   

When it comes to sermon preparation, my question is coffee shop or cave? Lest earlier words side track you entirely, it’s not merely a question of loud or quiet. It’s about opening yourself so that you may hear from God in a spiritually provoking manner. If you are extroverted, you draw from other people and prefer being with others in private or public places. If so, coffee shops may be ideal places for sermon preparation for you! Others may feel that being with and interacting with people spurs them toward a marketplace mentality which in helps to keep them connected and better able to minister.

I prize the cave of preparation. It is the place where I learned to hear the voice of God. I needed a cave because the process for me was more often than not grueling. It is such, that it would not play well with others in the room!  My rhythms (which often consumed nearly the entire day) involved scripture reading, quiet, prayer, quiet, tearfully getting real with the Word (which frequently had me head in hands or walking around the room as if the Holy Spirit was chasing me), and finally a “shalom moment” of resting in him. This was the Adullam (1 Sam. 22:1-4) part of the process and my cave contained a certain amount of despair before I could see what God would do for me. Then it became a stronghold! Although I entered that place to meet with the Holy One with a certain amount of fearful trepidation, I understood that it was essential that I decrease through the process so that Jesus could increase. I think every preaching/teaching pastor needs a good cave. Make it deep, dark, and lonely having been stripped of prop or refinement. Let it be an altar of undressed stones. (Ex. 20:25) And please, use it regularly!  But, if you will, let that cave of despair be transformed into a stronghold of faith as you are joined by others who will pursue the same vision with you. (1 Sam 22:4)

I recently talked to a young pastor who described her experience as cave meets coffee shop in that her message emerged from the cave in order to be shared and collaborated with others (staff or friends) so that it might be presented in a more holistic way. I think that is great! I remember when someone first proposed that the morning worship should be a group exercise it scared the daylights out of me. More people equals more opportunity for the devil to get into things and if not the devil, human spirit would invade which is almost as deadly! No, in fact, one of our markers for Sunday morning success was to see if the music worship leader and I wound up on the same page without coordinating efforts. This was a failure on my part, born out of insecurity and perhaps superstition. I thought it was being holy but now I don’t think so. I did feel as if I was carrying a special message and that my conduct through enemy lines must be made safe by hiding messenger and message. I was correct about the sacredness (specialness) of the message but the hidden stuff was drama. That was me. I do not ever remember God saying that I couldn’t tell my wife, but the majority of the time she was unaware until I began its actual delivery! What I did miss out on was having someone with me. Yes, I had the Holy Spirit, but he created us to be collaborators. That is why he created two people in the beginning and gave them power to procreate! The triune God doesn’t want us to dwell in divine isolation.

So I am proposing that “all things are yours” but if your choice is coffee shop that you first stop at a cave along the way. You must have that alone time with the Lord. I pray that before your message enters the market place it will be tried and tested with the one who can write on walls with his finger and on our hearts by his Spirit.