Homeless No More

Last Saturday, Max Melitzer's life and world changed. Max started out the day the same way he had for at least four years - pushing a shopping cart that contained his few possessions, roaming the streets of Salt Lake City, Utah, eating at rescue missions, and sleeping outside.

Max had no home and no hope...until Saturday. As Max pushed his shopping cart through Pioneer Park, a man approached him and asked if they could sit and talk. Max sat down on a park bench and received the news that his brother who had died of cancer last year left him a significant amount of money in his will. Max knew that his brother had died, but had no idea that he had been included in his brother's will.

David Lundberg, the private detective hired by the Melitzer family to find Max, told the Associated Press, "He'll no longer be living on the street or in abandoned storage sheds. He'll be able to have a normal life, and be able to have a home, provide for himself, and purchase clothing, food and health care."

Last Saturday, Max sat down a poor man and stood up a rich man. He had done nothing to improve the status of his life. Nor was it blind luck that reversed his course. Max's life changed because of a generous gift from someone who loved him more than he realized.

Max knew that his brother had died. But he didn't know that his brother's death turned the tumblers that opened a vault that would change his destiny.

You probably have some level of knowledge regarding the person named Jesus of Nazareth. The Christ. The Messiah. It is also quite likely that you have been informed that Jesus died on a cross 2,000 years ago.

But did you know...

•Jesus loves you more than you realize?

•Jesus was heaven's generous gift to you that opened an eternal inheritance you could never earn or repay?

•Jesus' death turned the tumblers that opened heaven's vault that could change your forever destiny if you will accept Him by faith?

Max received an inheritance from someone who loved him. An inheritance that came only after death. Max has a choice. He can either accept or refuse the gift. But how could he turn away from that sacrificial gift of love without rejecting the giver? I'm sure that Max feels unworthy and humbled by the gift. But I'm also sure that he loves his brother now more than ever because he knows how much his brother truly loved him.

Your response to Jesus is the same. You have the same options Max has, yet with eternal implications and consequences. I yearn to testify that I have accepted the sacrificial gift from Jesus, though no one is less worthy of it or more humbled by it.

Jesus loves me, this I know - for the cross tells me so.
Perry Crisp

Invisible Chains

Sweet Gum Road was the most traveled road in our backwoods neighborhood of southeast Texas. It was the artery which gave passage to every other road, street, drive, and dead end (what fancy folks call a cul-de-sac) in our neighborhood.

Therefore, Sweet Gum Road was the obvious choice for mischief. The invisible chain prank was one of our favorites. My pal, Andy, and I would get directly across the road from each other and kneel down (facing each other). We wrapped our hands around an invisible chain and focused our gaze intently on our hands. We never looked at the oncoming cars because people have a tendency to wonder what you're looking at.

Sure enough, a car would approach and the driver would inevitably slow down to try to see what was in our hands. When the front bumper of the car got even with our invisible chain, we would shout, "PULL!" and jerk our hands up like a fisherman setting the hook. Without fail, the drivers of those pranked cars would either slam on the brakes or swerve to miss the invisible chain. Then it was time for Andy and me to run into the woods and hide.

Most everyone would get out of their cars and check for invisible chain damage. Quite a few of them would wave a fist or single digit in the air, shout expletives, and leave a burnt rubber offering on the asphalt as they drove away. One or two got out of the car and chased us.

We learned not to pull this prank as darkness neared. You can't see things as clearly. Like sirens on top of a police car, for example. We only had one police car and one policeman. He only had one bullet. But he had a really good spotlight and recognized the preacher's son when he/I ran into the woods. He didn't chase us or shoot at us. He just turned the corner, pulled into my driveway, and went into my house to have a talk with my dad. They talked a long time.

A couple of months ago, I was driving down a two-lane highway through the woods. Ahead of me, I saw two boys. One on one side of the road and one on the other. They were both squatted down. I smiled. As I passed them, they shouted and pulled at their invisible chain. I didn't swerve, slam on the brakes, or shout expletives. I smiled and waved (with all five digits, of course).

The difference between my reaction to the invisible chain and the reaction of others was experiential knowledge. I knew by experience that the boys had nothing. They had no power but the power of the unknown. The power that tugs at our fears.

That's all the devil has on those who have an experiential knowledge of Jesus Christ, too. The devil has limited weaponry. Fear, doubt, and ignorance of truth are his primary weapons. All invisible chains. They work well on those who don't know better.

But the devil made a big mistake and tried to pull his invisible chain on Jesus. Because the devil is always in darkness, he couldn't see clearly who Jesus was. Jesus' weaponry consisted of one life and one sacrifice. His own. Jesus' death and resurrection took both the fun and the power out of Satan's chains.

Jesus also had a really good spotlight. Before He went to the cross, He shined that light on the devil's chains to show us that the devil has nothing on us when we follow God. "And He (Jesus) said to them, 'I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you'" (Luke 10:18-19).

Don't be punked by the devil. The scars in Jesus' hands have removed the threat of the invisible chains in the hands of the devil.

Trusting the Nail-Scarred Hands,
Perry Crisp

Passion Anyone?

Passion. No word captures that week of Jesus' life leading up to Easter Sunday better than passion.

It took passion to willingly walk mile after mile toward the city of Jerusalem when Jesus knew that He would be brutalized and murdered.

It took passion to ride into town to shouts of adoration and praise when Jesus knew that those same voices would turn to shouts of violence and hatred.

It took passion to enter the Temple and stir the indignation of the religious hypocrites knowing it would compel them to plan His painful death.

It took passion to love Judas.

It took passion to sit at the table with the disciples and eat a passover meal knowing that the entire meal symbolized the events that were about to take place in just a few hours.

It took passion to bend over the dirty feet of the disciples and wash them with water knowing that His body would soon be stretched out upon a cross and His blood would soon be poured out over their dirty, sinful souls.

It took passion to pray and surrender to the Father's plan in the garden knowing that the Temple guards were on their way.

It took passion to let men grab Him with the human power of their flesh and think they held Him when He knew the unlimited, divine power He held over them.

It took passion to hear the lies and endure the mockery of six illegal trials and false witnesses when He knew the truth of His innocence and their guilt.

It took passion to stand still while bloodthirsty men pummeled Him with their fists, spit into His face, ripped out His beard, tore His flesh with a whip, and mocked His name and authority while His angels stood and watched -- wanting to protect Him and defend Him, yet obeying His sovereign command not to intervene.

It took passion to carry the cross, endure the nails in His hands and feet, the thorns upon His brow, and be hoisted up before the world He loved in ridicule and humilty knowing that they did not understand one very important fact: It was His love for them...for us...that held Him on that cross. Not the nails.

It took passion to allow the horrible cruelty of crucifixion to play itself out without taking a divine shortcut.

It took passion to stay in the grave three days.

Passion. The same passion it took for Jesus to endure that week is still in His heart for you. He is passionate for you. He loves you. He did all that He did for you.

Remember His Passion...
Perry Crisp

Ode to a Red Chair

An honorary red chair sits in my living room. Three of the four legs are still in good shape. But the fourth one seems irreparable. It is not safe to sit in, so it leans against the wall and holds a couple of blankets and a teddy bear.

It is not attractive. It is a product of a common furniture store from the 60's. An interior decorator would send it to the curb for the trash truck. I can't find words to describe the color of the red in the red chair. The best I can say is that it's a dirty red.

Though they've never said it, guests to our home might wonder, "What's up with the ugly chair?"

I wish they would ask. I love that chair. I'd like to tell them why. Got a minute? I'd like to tell you about the red chair.

Back in the day when it was safe for sitting, you could rock in that red chair. It has springs under it. The springs make a very distinct squeaking noise. That noise is filed in my brain under "Mom."

When I was a baby and had trouble sleeping at night, Mom would take me to the red chair. She would hum hymns with her beautiful voice and the squeaking red chair would sing back-up.

Mom is in heaven. I can't hear her hum any more. But the back-up music still exists in that chair. The chair stays.

My brother and sister and I fought over the red chair when we were kids. We were competitive over everything. If the phone rang, we raced to answer it. On road trips, we fought for a window seat. But the red chair was the biggest and most brutal of our battlefields.

When we would get home from school or church, we would rush to the red chair. It was our living room's version of "king of the hill." If I was sitting in the red chair and got up for a snack, Mark or Lynn would seize the opportunity and take over the red chair. Who knows how much I could have weighed as a child had I not been afraid to get up for a snack?

The red chair contest became so violent at one point that our parents made a new house rule. The Red Chair Rule. If you were occupying the red chair and wanted to get up for something, you had to say, "Red chair's my chair" before someone else got to the chair. It "froze" the red chair for no more than ten minutes. If you did not say, "Red chair's my chair" or if you were not back in ten minutes, anyone could take possession of it.

One Saturday afternoon I was watching cartoons (back when they had cartoons for kids). I was the official red chair holder. Mark was on the couch.

The phone rang. I sprang from the red chair and ran to the phone on the wall.* I had completely forgotten about the red chair. I forgot to say the red chair chant. (Even though the rest of the action occurred in milliseconds, I am switching to the slo-mo replay version for effect).

I reached for the telephone. The red chair, couch, and evil brother were behind me. The loud ringing of the puke green phone provided audio cover for Mark to get up stealthily from the couch and make his move on the red chair. My exceptional peripheral vision combined with my premature multi-tasking skills enabled me to see and respond to the red chair coup attempt.

But my wires got crossed.

I saw Mark in mid-air lunging toward the red chair. I pulled the telephone receiver to my ear and mouth and shouted into the phone (in "Saving Private Ryan" fashion), "REDDDDD CHAIR'SSSSS MYYYYYY CHAIRRRRRRR!"

(Slo-mo over...back to normal speed)

The poor fellow on the other end of the phone was a deacon. My dad was his pastor. I'm not sure, but I think the Bible verse that talks about a pastor "ruling his own house well" may have come up at the next deacon's meeting...again.

The red chair sits in my living room now. Of all the treasures of my parent's estate, the red chair sits as a priceless jewel in my memory bank.

My connection to the red chair goes deeper than a mother's embrace or a sibling rivalry. I can relate to the red chair. I'm a wobbly, squeaky, broken product of the 60's. I'm nothing special to history or humanity. But I am special to God.

After the cross was bloodied and the stone was rolled away from the tomb, Jesus went to the devil's cheap furniture store with a receipt that had "Paid in Full" written on it. He picked out a red chair named Perry and said, "I've got a place in my living room for him. I'll be back for him."

Every time the devil tries to repossess me, Jesus reminds him, "THAT red chair's MY chair."

I may squeak, but it's music to my Father's ears...
Perry Crisp

*For readers under the age of 30, it is important to note that all phones were stuck to the walls or sat on desks in those days. The words "cell" and "wireless" belonged exclusively to the jail house and the new fancy clothes dryers, respectively.

Parable of the Tool Shed

The First Hardwood Church of Carpenterville held a business meeting that had the sawdust flying. Here are the minutes from the business meeting:

The meeting was called to order by the moderator, Brother Claw Hammer. The minutes of the previous meeting were read by Sister Blue Prints. There was no old business. There was no new business. Brother Hammer asked for a motion to adjourn.

Before anyone could make the motion, Brother Sledge Hammer stood up and grunted, "I think it's time we got a new moderator. Claw has no vision and his leadership is weak. It takes him ten licks on a nail that I could drive with one blow."

Brother Claw responded, "So you think YOU should be the moderator? You have no gentleness whatsoever. Everything you touch gets smashed to pieces."

"Well, at least we don't have to listen to that constant banging from Brother Sledge like we do when Brother Claw is tapping away incessantly," piped Brother Hand Saw.

"If you think constant banging is annoying, Brother Saw, you should hear your monotonous sliding back and forth," buzzed Brother Power Saw.

Sister Plane, hoping to smooth things out, said, "What if we let Brother Claw and Brother Sledge alternate as moderator?"

"Why does it have to be a Hammer?" asked Brother Screw Driver, "Haven't the Hammer's run this church long enough?"

"Well, nobody's going to follow a screwdriver, for crying out loud," said Sister Tape Measure, "We would all just be going in circles until we buried ourselves!"

"I think the obvious choice would be me," said Brother Ruler.

"If Brother Ruler becomes moderator, I'm leaving," said Sister Sand Paper, "He would wear me down to nothing with his perfectionistic legalism."

"At least I don't rub everyone the wrong way," answered Brother Ruler.

In the middle of all this discussion, Brother Latch was quietly lifted. The Carpenter of Nazareth opened the door unnoticed by the fussing tools. He donned His apron and walked right into the middle of the tools. When they saw Him, they all got quiet and bowed down, as if offering themselves to His hand.

The Carpenter went to the work bench, opened the original Blue Prints, and began working. He used Brother Saw, Sister Plane, Brother Ruler, and all the other tools. When He was finished, there stood two objects side by side: A cross and a pulpit.

The Carpenter laid the tools down, took off His apron, and left the shop. Each tool stared at the objects in silence. No motions. No moderators. No meetings. They KNEW what they were here to do. One by one, each prior statement was confessed, withdrawn, and forgiven.

The Great Carpenter has work for each one of us. Though we are all different, we all have a purpose. We should all work together to proclaim the sacrificial love of the Son of God to the world around us.

Colossians 3:12-13,
Perry Crisp

Shaken and Stirred

On April 19, 1995, I was walking down the hallway of a hospital in southeastern Oklahoma when I felt the ground shake. I later learned that the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City had been bombed. I was more than a two hour's drive from Oklahoma City, but still within trembling distance.

Several years ago, some friends asked me to tend to their pool while they spent some time in Alaska. Every couple of days, I treated the pool by pouring chemicals into the water line just a few inches away from the pump.

The pump itself was surrounded by a small picket fence. The space between the slats of the fence was just wide enough to slide my arm in and dump the chemicals. I repeated this process countless times without giving it much thought.

Then one day as I was about to slip my arm through the slats, I stopped. I'm not sure why. Something (or Someone) told me to look around inside the fence before sticking my arm through. Less than two feet from where my arm would have been was a napping rattlesnake. I trembled at the close call.

Not long after that, I was walking back to my house from the barn. My neighbors had a redneck shooting range behind their house. The sound of gunfire coming from that direction was not at all unusual. Then I heard the unmistakeable sound of a bullet cutting through the air. In milliseconds that felt like matrix seconds, the bullet whizzed by my head and smashed into the side of my barn.

I embraced the earth. After crawling to the house and calling my neighbors to let them know they missed, I sat down and trembled at the close encounter I'd had with lead poison.

As you can see, I've come within trembling distance of things that caused me to stop and take inventory. But nothing compares to the day I stood within trembling distance of the cross of Jesus Christ.

The bomb, the rattler, and the bullet could have killed me if I had been closer to them. But the day I knelt at the cross, I truly died. My past no longer mattered. My failures and mistakes were buried and lifeless. I died to who and what I used to be. I invited Jesus into my life and felt new life surge through me. I was born all over.

When God told Moses to bring the people of Israel to the foot of Mount Sinai to see the Lord come down the mountain in their sight, the anticipation of the nearness of God caused them to tremble (Exodus 19:16).

The songwriter asks, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" The songwriter's personal response and testimony is consistent with all those who have drawn near to God: "Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble."

Have you been within trembling distance of God? Iffy answers only mean you haven't scooted up close enough yet. Get within trembling distance. It may be shaky at first. But from there, you will forever stand on solid ground.

I was there.
Perry Crisp