Down through the ages the church on earth has often been assailed from without, but generally from within. Jesus predicted false teachers, and the apostles soon discovered the reality of His words. Early attacks revolved around questions of salvation via faith in Christ’s work on the cross alone; or should it be coupled somehow with keeping the Hebrew legal code, the Law? We easily gravitate toward polarities; on one hand we would like to do something in order to impress God with our goodness, (salvation via good works); or on the other extreme, we simply shrug off our sinfulness and need of a Savior, (I’m OK, you’re OK, we’re all OK.)

Paul’s opening in Galatians 1 is telling: “I marvel that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you by the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel—which is really no gospel at all.”  The test of the gospel message is Scripture itself. If the proclamation excludes or downplays God’s grace alone, His calling us to faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone; if it denies the reality of our sin, or negates Christ’s atonement on the cross on our behalf, it is “another” gospel.

Today, we seem to have gravitated to a “new” gospel of acceptance, instead of the “old” gospel of divine redemption. In preparing for this Sunday’s sermon, I ran across a relevant article which fully delves into these issues.   http://wordalone.org/docs/wa-grorud08.shtml   Check it out. What do you think; have we left the “old” gospel for another?

I’ve been re-reading Eugene Peterson’s book, Eat This Book, and he’s got me thinking.
Peterson talks a lot in this book about how we read and understand Scripture. One of the things he considers is the “live”liness of the Word.
That is, how Scripture reveals the living Lord.
It’s easy to fall into the habit of reading Scripture as if it’s about old things — old stories, old people, old truth. We get so familiar with Scripture that we don’t really “see” or “hear” anything new and alive in it.
Peterson advocates reading the Scripture with an awareness that it speaks of all our lives in a way that makes all things new. “So,” he writes, “lectio divina. A way of reading that guards against depersonalizing the text into an affair of questions and answers, definitions and dogmas.”
In other words, we read Scripture in a way that isn’t about religious arguments or proving our point, but is instead a way of getting to know our best Friend.
Now, that’s a way of reading Scripture I think I’ll enjoy.

I’ve always wondered about Lot’s wife; what little we know of her seems such an odd story.
If it’s been awhile since you read it, here’s a quick-read version of Genesis 19: God decides to rain destruction — “brimstone and fire from the LORD out of heaven” — on Sodom and Gomorrah, because their sins greatly offend him. But God allows Lot to escape with his wife and two daughters before the destruction begins. In fact, God sends angels to make sure they leave, and despite Lot’s initial reluctance to go, the angels insist that he leave, and leave quickly.
So Lot, his wife, and their two daughters make their escape. But as they flee, Lot’s wife looks back, and as she looks back, she becomes a pillar of salt.
Huh? What’s that all about?
Scripture doesn’t give extensive explanation, just a very brief description of what happened. That brief description is enough to terrify anyone, though, so I can only imagine what it must have been to experience it.
The angels who came to be sure Lot and his family left warned Lot and his family not to look back, but the temptation to do just that proved too great for Lot’s wife.
So why did Lot’s wife look back? Was she trying to make sense of what she was hearing or smelling or feeling as brimstone and fire fell on Sodom and Gomorrah? Or was she merely reluctant and sad to leave that familiar place she had known as home?
Looking back resulted in her own personal disaster.
When God tells us it is time to leave, we need to leave and not look back. That’s easier said than done, as anyone who has tried to do it knows, but the alternatives are not attractive.
If Lot and his family had stayed in Sodom and Gomorrah, they would certainly have been caught up in the destruction.
That’s my take-away from this Scripture lesson. There have been times and places God has asked me to leave, and I’m learning not to look back.
I’m learning to trust God to deal with and care for those situations, places, and people, and I’m learning to look forward, not back. I’m learning to pay more attention to where God wants me to go than to where I’ve been. I’m learning to listen and obey rather than keep trying to do what God wants me to be done with.
Lot’s wife couldn’t do anything about what was happening in Sodom and Gomorrah, but if she’d looked forward instead of back — if she’d trusted God instead — she certainly would have gotten farther.

This is a season of hospitality.
It seems as if only December can rival May as a season of family events, programs, and parties, and that means coming together as family, friends, and even strangers to spend time together on bleachers, in folding chairs and pews, in living rooms, kitchens, and back yards to observe and mark special events, to celebrate.
One of my favorite books about hospitality is Radical Hospitality, by Father Daniel Homan and Lonni Collins Pratt. I like this book because it doesn’t pretend that hospitality is just a matter of having the right napkins or appetizers. Instead, this book addresses the importance of opening your heart to others.
That’s not to say that napkins and appetizers, as well as all the other things we associate with gracious hospitality, aren’t important — they offer us an opportunity to exercise creativity as well as any skills we might have in cooking, decorating, or gardening. To exercise creativity in those ways is a gift, and to receive such a gift is a blessing. Such a gift, freely offered to others, gratefully received, can be refreshing.
But hospitality does not rely on those things. Hospitality relies on our heart.
To open the door of one’s heart to welcome another, to include another, to care for another — that is hospitality.
What good is it to be invited into a lovely setting, knowing that you aren’t really welcome?
How much fun is it to be included in an event, knowing that you aren’t really wanted?
Of what value is it if you end up at some big event, knowing that no one cares about what you need?
On the other hand, what do your surroundings matter, if you are welcome, wanted, and cared for?
We have the opportunity to extend hospitality to others wherever we are, by treating them as if they are honored guests in our day. Everyone — from the waitress at our table to the grocery store clerk to the difficult neighbor down the street to our own beloved family — everyone in our lives is someone we can welcome into our heart, offering hospitality, offering refreshment, offering love in the name of Jesus Christ.

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Speaking of hospitality, we’d like to invite you to join us this summer — for worship, for fellowship, or for Bible study. We’d like to welcome you in the name of Jesus Christ, to tell you the good news of His love for you, to share the stories of His presence in our lives.

Please join us on Sunday afternoons at the Marquis Chapel of Second Presbyterian Church in Bloomington at 4:15 p.m., or for Bible study on Wednesday evenings or Thursday mornings — you’ll find details in the bullet points to the left on this page.

We’re hoping to see you soon!

Gal. 6:7…for whatever one sows, this will also be reaped. For the one who sows to the flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life.   (see also Gal. 5:19 for contrasts between flesh and Spirit)

Christ’s great earthly church throughout the ages has always been in need of, and subject to, ongoing reform. This is part of what the Holy Spirit does among us. (John 16:12) I suspect it also has something to do with Jesus’ teaching in Luke 8:16 “For nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.” God has ways of bringing things to light… if we have eyes to see, and ears to hear.

Pray for the churches, that we remain faithful and true to Jesus Christ, His Spirit and His word. And may we always take care with what we sow in our countries, our communities, our churches, our families and ourselves. The law of sowing and reaping has not changed. This Pentecost season, may we remember: “Since we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.” Gal. 5:25  Thanks be to God!

I’ve come to see that some change is inevitable.
We change from the time we are born. We grow, and our bodies change, and along with that, the things we are able to do change. Our relationships change, and so do the roles we play in our families and in our communities.
The world around us changes, too — some things end, others begin. New things are invented and overtake older ways of doing things.
But change makes me cranky: sometimes it’s scary. Sometimes it’s inconvenient. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable — I have to redo things, or learn to do them differently, or quit doing things I like and enjoy. I don’t always like change, although sometimes change is welcome — usually if I’m the one making the change. Often, though, it isn’t – I want things to stay as they are, familiar and comfortable, without loss or grief. I don’t want people to move away, or get sick, or die; I don’t want the groups I’m part of to meet on a different night and upset my schedule, or do things differently, or — change! I like things the way they are!
And I’ve learned that generic change –anything that changes your life — is OK, but anything that changes my life is alarming! and often must be stopped!
So the question becomes: How do I discern when change is appropriate and when things need to stay as they are? and how can I learn to change when I need to, graciously, that is, with grace?
The secret, I think, is learning to recognize what changes, and what actually stays the same.
My circumstance may change. God doesn’t.
My situation may change. God’s love doesn’t.
My physical body will change, but God’s faithfulness won’t.
In the midst of change, God is constant, and I can count on Him.
In the midst of change, God is trustworthy. I may not always want or like the way things change, but in Deuteronomy 31:6 Moses reminded the Israelites to “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them (that is, the nations living in the Promised Land) for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (New International Version)
Now Moses was talking about real change — and this was going to be a good change, one God had promised, one Israel had looked forward to! And it was still hard!
So now I’m feeling a little better — I recognize my feelings about change are fairly normal, and I also recognize I don’t have to be stuck in them.
Not only can I accept change, I can change, myself — if I remember that God won’t leave me. He won’t forsake me, even in the midst of change.
And change is something God uses to help me become more like Jesus. When I allow Him to work in me instead of indulging in crankiness about change, He is able to effect change in my heart, the kind of changes that please and honor Himself. And since He is my Lord as well as my Savior, if He is pleased and honored, how can I complain?
Even though I’m still trying to remember not to be cranky about change, I’m almost beginning to look forward to seeing how things change next, because it means a new awareness of God at work in my life.
In Lamentations 3:22-24, we read that “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness.”
Now here’s a mystery: God’s love never ceases. It is steadfast. But His mercies are new every morning. Every morning. In a sense — they change: they are still His mercies, but each morning they are new. Fresh. Changed from yesterday, but responsive to today’s need.
That’s the kind of change I can appreciate.

Why do you “believe in” God? What is the basis for your trust in Him?
I was thinking about that as I read the Psalm included in this week’s readings, Psalm 97, which begins with this statement about God: “The LORD reigns,” it says; “let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice.”
Fair enough — God reigns. Who would expect the psalmist to say anything different?
The Psalm continues, “Clouds and thick darkness surround him; righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.”
That’s what caught my attention, that line about “righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.” It sounds as if the psalmist is justifying his assertion about the LORD reigning. That got me thinking about whether the presence or absence of “righteousness and justice” are sufficient reasons to believe in God.
I think so: righteousness and justice are two solid reasons to at least consider the psalmist’s claims about God.
What is meant by “the foundation of his throne”?
As I look back over history, one can find a variety of throne-foundations: someone won a skirmish, a battle, or a war. Someone was taller or stronger or faster than anyone else around. Someone was more politically savvy than others, or just quicker to grab power. Someone proved his worthiness in any number of ways that convinced those around him that he should rule over them.
The foundations of God’s throne are righteousness and justice. To understand their value, consider what the world is like without them. Unrighteousness and injustice are not difficult to find, although they are difficult to live with. When we suffer unrighteousness, we experience “un-right-ness,” that is, things are somehow out of whack. Life isn’t working well. Instead of beauty, order, health, honor, truth, and purity we experience ugliness, dis-order, unhealthiness, dis-honor, un-truth, and degradations of various kinds.
Injustice means unfairness: unfair advantage for some, dis-advantage for others, and no way to correct the imbalance. Injustice means no reliable recourse for wrongs done, no unbiased judge, no hope for positive changes.
But righteousness and justice are the foundation of God’s throne – not only is He able to provide and enforce righteousness and justice; He is the source of them. Righteousness and justice are the basis for God’s worthiness, His Lordship, His rule over us.
Why, then, is there still so much unrighteousness and injustice in the world? Is God not on His throne?
It would be easy to make that assumption, but I think it would be a wrong conclusion. God’s present kingdom here and now is not one of place, but of the heart. Where God rules a heart, one finds righteousness and justice, but where God is given only lip-service, or not yet acknowledged as Lord, one will find unrighteousness and injustice. The foundation of His throne is the hallmark of His rule.
And the very presence of righteousness and justice in the world — against great odds — is one of the things that convinces me that God is who the psalmist says He is, and that He is worthy of my trust.

Do you ever feel as if someone pushed your “fast forward” button? Sometimes it seems to me as if life is happening so quickly I can hardly keep up.
I suspect that has more to do with my schedule than it does with time itself.
My schedule is full. And then some. I wouldn’t be surprised if your schedule isn’t full, too. And we all know what that means: fatigue.
I’m not just talking about physical fatigue; I’m talking about spiritual fatigue.
My schedule is not full of things like meditation, study, and quiet.
It’s full of going and doing — fast forward.
When I don’t make time for quieter things, not only does my body get tired, so does my spirit.
But here’s the crazy thing: when I slow down, I feel guilty, like I’m not doing enough.
Guilt yields rotten fruit, like resentment. Bitterness. Self-loathing. Depression.
Compare those fruits to the fruits of meditation, study, and quiet: understanding. Thoughtfulness. Wisdom.
I have to remind myself of my own limitations. I cannot do everything I think I can do, at least not all at the same time. I need to allow myself time to process the things I’m doing, reflect on them. Listen to God’s take on things.
It seems as if God has planned for us to build time into our lives for rest and renewal. Scripture encourages us to meditate on His word every day. God’s instructions about a weekly Sabbath provide a weekly time of rest. And I believe God sends seasons of relative quiet into our lives.
I have to take advantage of His provision, though, on a daily, weekly, and seasonal basis. I have to be willing to face down guilty feelings as I make time to meditate, study, and reflect on what God is doing in my life.
I have to plan and prepare for that weekly time of rest. I have to protect it by refusing the temptation to book myself 24/7/365.
I have to become sensitive to the seasons when God is encouraging me to slow down, when He is calling me to spend time with Him, wooing me away from my own schedules and obligations, reminding me that He is my first love.
I want to live my life at His speed.

I’ve been filling out invitations for a niece’s wedding shower, and thinking about what a happy thing it is to share her joy.
My sister-in-law and I are having fun making plans for this shower, and it’s been kind of exciting to anticipate how it will all turn out. There are a lot of choices — cake or tarts? games or visiting? indoors or out on the patio? — which is, of course, part of the fun.
It all makes me wonder, though: what would happen if I got this excited about inviting someone to faith in Jesus?
There are some similarities. The church, which is where people with faith in Jesus gather for worship, fellowship, and service, is sometimes called “the bride of Christ.” Inviting someone to faith in Jesus is a little bit like asking them to get married.
What if I had this same sense of anticipation to see how someone’s relationship with Jesus would turn out? What if I were this excited to plan for them to come experience worship and hear God’s word? What if I invited them as if they were coming to time and eternity’s greatest, most wonderful party?
I’ll bet I wouldn’t mumble, or look for excuses not to invite them.
I’ll bet I wouldn’t shake their hand at the door, then abandon them without making them feel really welcome.
I’ll bet I wouldn’t forget to thank them for coming.
Jesus himself invited those who were troubled — burdened and heavy-laden — to come to Him, promising that He himself would give them rest (Matthew 11:28). In His Name, we can offer that same invitation to those around us who are tired — worried and confused — but how we invite them matters a great deal, and so does the way we treat them when they finally accept our invitation.
From now on, I want to be sure that my invitations reflect the joy I’ve found in Jesus. I want to share my excitement at knowing Him. I want to be sure that those I invite feel welcome.
Because they are.

I’m not a big fan of discomfort.
I like challenge and adventure, but could you deliver that to my comfort zone, please?
My comfort zone is a tidy place, but lately it seems to be shrinking. It’s all those news reports of suffering and injustice around the world. They make me uncomfortable, because I keep feeling as if I should do something about them — but what?
I have a lingering sense of inadequacy and uneasiness over the suffering of people I’ve never met in places I’ve never been. I have a hard time listening to reports of people whose homes are over-run by war or famine or other catastrophes. I want to fix things for them, but I don’t know how, in large part because their needs are so great and my ability to help seems so small.
Yet I still listen; I still read the news of wars and famine and catastrophe. It seems wrong, somehow, to turn away. And with each story, each account, my heart becomes more tender toward those who suffer.
You’d think it would work the other way round — I’d become more calloused about these things. I’d protect my heart with a hard shell of uncaring, and pretend that my comfort zone is big enough to live in.
Instead, that tenderness calls me to take action here and now, where I am. After all, there are people who suffer here, too, and they need help in Jesus’s Name. My help is an offering to Jesus, because He never fails to help me. I can only trust that, like the loaves and fishes that day on the hillside, He will multiply my small help so that it is enough for everyone who needs it.
If I thought faith was only for my own benefit, I’d never get involved in helping anyone. Helping almost always draws me out of my comfort zone; it requires me to stretch, change, and grow. And as I mentioned before, I’m not a big fan of discomfort.
But I believe God allows us to see the needs of others so our hearts will become more tender towards those who suffer, and so that that tenderness will compel us to act in their best interests in His Name. Our part is to allow God to work in us as we work on behalf of those others, to do things in ways that honor Him.
The comfort of God is not merely the wallpaper of our comfort zone; it is His presence as we venture outside, into the world with all its discomfort and challenge, to meet the needs of others in His Name.