School Daze

Pick a grade. It doesn't matter which one. Third grade? Yep. Seventh grade? Ah-huh. Eleventh grade? That one, too. You can even count my four years of college and six years of seminary. My feelings never changed. It was always the same: I COULDN'T WAIT FOR THE BELL TO RING!

The coolest thing about school was the bell. Kids today are cheated if they don't get a real bell. Don't give them a wimpy electronic ding. Don't shortchange them with a beep or a buzz. The bell is the best! It inspires the fireman in all of us. It shoots kids out of the cannon of semi-consciousness.

When I was younger, the bell was a wonderful daily surprise. I was ADD before they had the initials, so I was lost in my own little world the first few years of first grade. But when that bell rang -- hot dog -- I sprang to action! Slam the book shut. Grab the Big Chief tablet (google it, kids) and the Green Hornet lunchbox. The bell has sounded! It's time to go home!

As I got older, I gradually learned to expect the bell. Somewhere along the way, I became a clock watcher. I knew the bell was coming. I knew WHEN it was going to ring. I'll be honest. I liked it better when I didn't know. Even the smug satisfaction of counting down the final ten seconds and synchronizing my "NOW" whisper-shout perfectly with the ringing of the bell was not as exhilerating as the former days of being surprised by the bell.

But still, the anticipation was there, even in seminary. The knowing. The waiting. Stealthily watching the clock like a professional spy without anyone knowing that I knew time was about to run out. Slowly, methodically, unnoticed, I would gather my books and my Green Hornet lunchbox (the seminary bookstore didn't sell Big Chief tablets) and lunge for the door when the bell sounded. The thrill of the bell never left. It never let me down, unless it was a fire drill. But even that had it's own adrenalyn rush.

What could be more awesome than a bell to end school? A trumpet and a high-volume shout from the sky to end the world. Oh yes. It's coming. Just as I knew the bell was coming in school, I know the trumpet will one day blast and the angel in charge of shouting will let her rip. The only thing I don't know is...when. No one knows.

A few morons guess. Jesus predicted they would. But Jesus said, "No one knows" (Matthew 24:36-37). No one knows when it will but happen. But the Bible assures us that it most definitely will happen.*

When the bell in school rang, I was always ready to go. School was not my home. School had moments of pleasure. Thank God for recess, lunch, good friends, and nice teachers. But as good as the good in school was, it couldn't compare to home.

This world is the same. It has great moments. I'm thankful for the blessings of God in this life. But this isn't home. Heaven is. I don't watch the clock because there's no clock to watch. But every once in a while, I see signs that make me think the angel in charge of trumpet blowing is about to pucker!

I'm ready. Are you?

*"The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God's trumpet blast! He'll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise --- they'll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we'll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words" (1st Thessalonians 4:16-18, The Message).

Home is Where the Hard Is

Where do you go when your life's been changed? According to Jesus, you go to the hardest place there is to live a changed life --- home.

Jesus and His disciples hopped in a boat and went across the Sea of Galilee to Gadara. They were met by an unwelcoming committee of demons who had taken up residence in a man's life. They didn't want Jesus near their man-hotel. They liked living inside him and enjoyed torturing him. But he didn't like it so much, so he ran toward Jesus for help.

He got what he hoped for. Jesus evicted the unwelcome gang of demonic thugs from the man's life and sent them into a more fitting host --- a herd of pigs.

The man who had terrorized nearby villages with his screams of demonic torture was released of that evil, and the Bible described him as "sitting and clothed and in his right mind" (Mark 5:15).

The people of the village saw the man sitting there like a normal man and it scared them. It seemed they were more afraid of him now than when he acted like a raving lunatic. People untouched by God's grace don't understand it. They don't trust it. They don't know where to put it or what to do with it. They will "amen" a sermon on grace, forgiveness, and restoration, but they will "oh me" someone they know who used to be a hellion and now claims to be permanently altered by that grace.

Some will even pretend to accept such a person with a hug, a handshake, or a wink. Yet, the wink stays permanent and becomes an attitude of --- "I'm keeping my eye on you." Which is another way of saying, "I believe God can change people, but I'm not sure God can change YOU."

The former host of the demonic tormentors knew this. He took one look at the fear and scowls on the faces of his homies and ran to Jesus a second time. This time he was hoping for a ticket on Jesus' boat so he could get far away from his hometown.

"Jesus, can I please go with you? I'm not welcome here. They won't believe that I've changed. I'll always be the ex-maniac here. They'll never trust me or accept me."

Jesus' answer is hard: "Go home to your friends, and tell them what great things the Lord has done for you, and how He has had compassion on you" (verse 19).

The hardest place to live a changed life is at home. Friends and family are the hardest people to convince that you are a new person. No one knows the old you like they do.

But Jesus knows this... If your family and friends can see a difference in you, then everyone else will, too. If it's real, it can pass even the hardest test.

My friend, the world might forever label you as a former this or that. Take heart. The world doesn't have the last word. God does. His wink is genuine. His embrace is everlasting. His home is yours forever.

He will even give you a job: "Tell them what I've done for you and how I love you."

That's change you can truly believe in!

Perry Crisp

Hi Mom!

Four days from now, the land of the free and the home of the brave will turn the gratitude spotlight on the ones who make it all happen: Mom!

Seriously, moms DO make it all happen. That kid who stands at home plate swinging at and completely missing the ball on the t-ball stand today, yet hits a grand-slam tomorrow for a MLB team owes a lot to the mom who rarely missed a game, always cheered him on, and taught him to believe in himself. He becomes the hero who hears the roar of thousands cheering his name, yet when the dugout camera gets in his face, he says, "Hi mom."

The eleven-year-old girl who hears insults and name-calling from her peers today, yet walks the stage to receive an Oscar for Best Actress tomorrow didn't make the journey without a mom who was always her biggest fan and took time out of her busy schedule to attend her daughter's every play and theatrical performance. The actress begins a list of thank-you's to all the important people who made it possible. First on the list is the mom who worked two jobs to make her daughter's dreams come true.

Worthy of honor. Yes. Mom, you are worthy of honor. Search the Bible and you will find at least a dozen commands to honor, respect, and obey your mom. I find that especially significant in light of the fact that the societal and cultural times in which the Bible was written were heavily male-dominated. These were Patriarchial times with a capital P. Women simply were not honored in those days. Yet, God made it one of the Big Ten (no, not the athletic conference, the Ten Commandments). "Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you" (Exodus 20:12).

Here is my dilemma. Mom went to heaven sixteen years ago. How do I honor her? Is there a statute of limitations on this command when our mother has gone to heaven ahead of us?

I think I have figured it out. It wasn't that hard. Whether your mom is alive on this planet or alive on God's porch, you can and should honor her by honoring and living up to the truths she taught you to live by. Make her proud whether she's numbered among the earthly crowd or gathered with the saints in the clouds.

I've done enough funerals for moms who were saints to see sons and daughters weeping uncontrollably over the casket because their lives didn't honor the truths their mom tried to instill in them. It's a sad thing. You want to honor your mom while she's still alive? Live so that when the day of her funeral comes, you will be crushed with grief over her loss, but not crushed with guilt over your life.

You want to honor her after she's gone? I do. So what do we do? Live so that when you get to heaven, she wants to hug your neck instead of grab you by the ear.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.
Perry Crisp

Yes...that's a picture of Mom, Me, and Dad circa 1979

This Way to Safety

A passenger plane failed to take off properly, crashed through the fences and barriers at the end of the runway, skidded along its belly a great distance before doing a nose dive into a nearby river late at night. The aircraft was half in and half out of the powerful river current. The craft remained intact, but the wings and tail section of the plane remained on land while the nose, cockpit, and business-class section floated on the river. Only the pilot and the co-pilot knew that the front half of the plane was on the river, but the pilot was dazed and nearly unconscious from the crash.

The co-pilot knew that the strong current made the exits at the front end of the plane too dangerous. Anyone exiting the plane in that river would drown in the darkness. The co-pilot acted quickly. The crash knocked all the power out. He could not call the flight attendants or calm the passengers with the PA system.

Knowing that the primary exits in a crash are near the cockpit and that the flight attendants might soon try to open the forward doors, he exited the cockpit, turned on his flashlight, and began directing everyone to the back of the aircraft. Flight attendants were located at the front and rear of the plane, and the ones at the rear could not hear the co-pilot over the voices of panic and creaking noises of the crumpled plane.

The co-pilot instructed the flight attendants at the front of the plane not to open the doors because the water would come flooding in and could possibly pull the entire plane into the river. He then pushed his way through the frightened passengers toward the rear of the plane, encouraging everyone to remain calm. Every few rows, the co-pilot instructed everyone that the only safe exit was at the rear of the craft.

This process took a great deal of time and the passengers were getting more and more anxious to get off the plane. Fear spread throughout the craft. Someone shouted, "What if the plane catches on fire with these fully-loaded fuel tanks?" Another shouted, "The front exit is the largest. Why aren't we exiting there?" Yet another said, "If we use all the exits, we can all get off of here quicker!"

By the time the co-pilot reached the flight attendants at the rear of the plane, chaos had ensued. People began panicking and pushing in both directions. Others argued with those who were panicking to listen to the co-pilot and do what he says.

The co-pilot opened the rear emergency door and began safely disembarking the passengers. He used his flashlight to guide the frightened passengers toward him while the flight attendants on the ground took them to a safe, open area away from any potential explosion. Emergency personnel from the nearby airport began to arrive on the scene.

Little did the co-pilot know what was happening at the front of the craft. A few of the passengers near the cockpit chose not to follow the co-pilot or heed his instructions. Instead, they unleashed their panic on the flight attendants guarding the large exit door, shoved them aside, and tugged on the exit handle to get the door opened.

Thankfully, the flow of the river forced the door to stay shut long enough for everyone else, including the injured pilot and the flight attendants to get safely off the plane. Multiple attempts were made to control the panicked passengers and lead them safely to the rear of the plane, but they continued pushing against the door that would lead to their death should they succeed in their mission.

Finally, the emergency personnel from airport security boarded the craft at the risk of their own lives and forcefully removed the remaining passengers. Once the passengers who had defied the co-pilot's plan of escape were on the ground, they looked back toward the front of the craft, saw the powerful river that would have swept them to their deaths, and hung their heads in shame. Not long after everyone was safely removed from the sight of the crash, the force of the river overpowered the nose of the plane and wrestled the front half of the craft to the river's bottom.

The co-pilot's quick action and knowledge of the situation saved the lives of every person on board.

But wait. What if this story was a parable? What if the crumpled aircraft was symbolic of the world, the co-pilot was Jesus, and the front and rear exits of the craft represented hell and heaven, respectively?

Apply today's logic of tolerance and the world's overbearing and distorted hatred of anything that remotely appears to be intolerance of other's religious views to this situation. If YOU were on that plane, would you accuse the co-pilot of being intolerant for insisting that there is only one way to safety? Would you call the emergency personnel who forced you off the plane a bunch of narrow-minded bigots?

As a Christian, I believe the Bible is the Word of God. As such, I believe it is truth, not opinion. When Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me" (John 14:6), I believe Him. When Peter said, "Nor is there salvation in any other, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved" (Acts 4:12), I believe him. When Paul wrote, "If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved" (Romans 10:9), I believe it!

So, when I stand at the corner of sin and salvation and point people in the direction of Jesus alone and you think me intolerant, bigoted, and narrow-minded, your disdain is for with the wrong person. Your argument is really with Jesus, Peter, and Paul (all three were Jews, by the way...so don't think me anti-semitic, either).

What would you think of the co-pilot had he simply pushed his way through the passengers, shared his opinion that he thought maybe the back exit was the best, but then said, "Use whatever exit you think is best for you," and then left everyone in danger to figure it out for themselves?

Think for just a moment about the passengers who insisted on using the front exit. They were convinced they knew more than anyone else on board. They were determined to use the front exit, believing totally that it was a way to safety. It was only AFTER they were off the plane that they saw the error of their ways. Yet for them in this story, they were still safe. They just had to deal with their own shame and stubbornness that nearly cost them their lives.

But eternity is a different issue. You must decide to accept and follow Jesus before you disembark this physical world. You must live eternally with whatever decision you make now. Weigh your arguments carefully. Research truth honestly. This is no place to casually accept the fluff of pop culture. This is the biggest decision of your life.

This Way,
Perry Crisp

Man Fishing

Jesus said, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men." Seems simple enough. Followers of Jesus have been given a clear task: Go fishing to find others who will become followers of Jesus.

Oh my, how we have complicated that call! We have become species specialists, selectively fishing for certain fish. The Sunday morning boat ramps are filled with favoritism. The Bass Boat Baptists hit the boat ramp first. While they are content to leave the Crappie to the Charismatics and the Catfish to the Catholics, they are divided even among themselves over how to fish for bass, selective about which bass is worth catching, and suspicious about other fishermen who are more successful.

Some want to bed fish and yank those sinners right out of bed on Sunday morning. Others want to finesse fish and lure them in without them realizing they're caught until it's too late. Still others are looking only for "keeper fish." They go after the big fish. Oh, they don't mind catching an average fish, but they eventually toss it back and forget about it. Let them land a lunker and they'll parade that catch in front of everyone! It'll even make the "Baptist Mess-O-Fish-enger" paper. They are quite proud of their trophy fish.

It is dangerous to get the Bass Boat Baptists together for too long. It won't be long before they'll divide up amongst themselves arguing over everything from which bait is better to which species of bass is better. The topwater lovers will cluster and preach against the crank baiters. The largemouth crowd will speak derisively about the smallmouth. Before long, another new club will be formed.

To make matters worse, the Bass Boat Baptists won't share a boat ramp with Pontoon Presbyterians because they have more than fish in their coolers and the Canoeing Church of Christs won't even use the same boat ramp as any of the others because they don't believe in motors.

It is puzzling to observe such behavior. The call of Jesus seems simple enough. Yet, instead of fishing, much of our time is spent maintaining and polishing our boats, admiring our gear, bragging about last year's catch, fussing over favorite fishing holes, fuming at another boat because they took one of our fish, and taking classes on everything from better knot-tying to what color boat cover to use.

The craziest behavior of all takes place away from the water. In alarming numbers, fishermen sit cross-armed at the boat ramp or on the bank or in their driveways with their boats still on the trailer, wondering why the fish won't jump out of the water and flop toward them! It's as if they expect the fish to jump in their boats and baptize themselves in their livewells!

Jesus didn't call us to fish for men for the pleasure of fishing, but for the importance of the men. It's not about our pleasure. It's about His passion. We've made fishing for men too much about the act of fishing and not enough about the lost condition of man. Jesus doesn't care what your boat looks like or whether you use the same spinner bait as Peter. Jesus isn't judging you by how many fish you catch or how big they are. He just wants you to fish.

If we'll do the fishing, He'll do the catching.

Oh, and by the way, Jesus doesn't practice catch and release. Why should we?

Hooked on Jesus,
Perry Crisp

PS: The reason I am being harder on the Baptists than the others is because I are* one.
*(Intentional use of poor grammar)

What Was the Question?

One afternoon when my daughter, Tori, was 3 or 4 years old, she was spending some quality time with her parents. She was a cute, bright-eyed, blonde-haired little girl with lots of questions. She will be 20 soon and still, in my unbiased opinion, fits the above description, yet without as many questions.

I don't recall exactly what prompted me to ask Tori a question, but I will never forget my question nor her answer. Whatever she said prior to my question caused me to laugh. Then I asked, "Tori, you're not gonna be one of those dumb blondes, are you?" I expected a giggle and a "Noooooo" in reply.

She gave me something better. Her face went serious. She furrowed her cute little eyebrows, turned to her mom and asked, "Is me, mommy?"

Sometimes, questions answer themselves.

Thankfully, she is anything but dumb and has excelled in academics and athletics (with only rare visits to Dumb Blondeville). But that moment was classic. Don't you love those types of memories? The joy of reminiscing and remembering the blessings and special times of life is a valuable gift.

Spring has finally decided to spring. The trees and grass remember how to turn green again. The birds have remembered their songs. The momma deer remembers how to nurture her newborn. This is a good day to reminisce. A good time to think back over the blessings of God in your life.

The Psalmist wrote, "I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your miracles of long ago" (Psalm 77:11, NIV). Miracles don't have to defy the laws of nature to be miraculous. Something as natural as an unforgettable moment between a parent and a child can rank among the miraculous and is worthy of celebration. File it under the miracle of life, of love, or of unexpected surprises.

Stop what you're doing right now. Take a moment to reminisce. To cherish. To treasure what and who belongs in your box of valuable memories. Then smile and thank God for His miracles.

Do you remember?
Perry Crisp

Memories from a "Delightful" Childhood

Somewhere a frail, aged, retired elementary school teacher is sitting in her rocking chair, combing through memories of her students. She has a stack of class photos from the late '60's to the late 90's in her lap as she sips from a cup of quivering tea.

She smiles at her pictures of all those bright, shiny young faces. Boys and girls whose lives she once touched are now all grown up with children (and in some cases, grandchildren) of their own. She picks up the class picture from 1972 and smiles at each face...until she gets to the back row, far left.

Her smile turns to an evil scowl. Spittle rolls down her chin. She reaches a trembling hand out and picks up a pair of scissors from her table. Grimacing and muttering indiscernible words, she steadies her trembling hand as best she can and begins cutting the picture of one of the students out!

Cute little boy. Big smile. Blonde hair. Hole in his jeans at both knees. Wearing a blue t-shirt that has the number 18 on it...

HEY WAIT! THAT'S ME!!!

To say that I was an outstanding student is accurate if you separate the "out" from the "standing." I was usually out standing in the hall waiting for my next encounter with the Principal.

It wasn't that I lacked correction at home. Trust me, I got plenty of that! I was just really good at being mischievous. The "imagination" side of my brain leaked over into the "think twice before you do that" side of my brain.

Back in the day when we had only wooden pews in church, most kids could get away with playing paper football during the sermon without the preacher noticing. Not me! Nooooo... I would get so into the paper football game that I would not only forget that I was in church, I would forget that my dad was the preacher!

When I heard the name "Perry" rumble from the pulpit, I knew enough Bible to know that that particular name was not in the Book. Whenever Brother Crisp had to call a time-out from preaching to gain the attention of his youngest child, I knew I was in trouble. There was no such thing as "time out" in my dad's parenting manual.

Those were the longest sermons my dad ever preached. He had my attention for the rest of the service. All I could think about was where I could hide when I got home. My plan was always the same: Sit still through the rest of the sermon. When church is over, run home, grab the cookies, and hide. Maybe -- just maybe -- Dad will forget all about the 30 yard field goal attempt that landed in Mrs. Whitmeyer's hair.

He never forgot. It didn't matter where I hid, his voice penetrated into my hiding place and drew me like a zombie out of hiding and into his bedroom. On one such occasion, I looked up at my dad and said, "Can't I just cry real hard and save us both a lot of pain?"

Discipline is not fun. But it is often needed. It's like deodorant. You can tell when someone hasn't had any. The Bible (that book that doesn't have the name "Perry" in it) tells us that discipline is a good thing. "But don't, dear friend, resent God's discipline; don't sulk under his loving correction. It's the child he loves that God corrects" (Proverbs 3:11-12, The Message).

The New King James Version reads a little differently: "My son, do not despise the chastening of the Lord, nor detest His correction; for whom the Lord loves He corrects, just as a father the son in whom he delights." According to that translation, my parents were very delighted in me!

I'm thankful for the discipline I received at home from loving parents who kept me on the right path when I was prone to wander off it. I'm also grateful for a heavenly Father who loves me enough that He will get my attention with discipline in order to protect me from great harm.

My apologies to all the poor saints staring at class pictures with holes in it, and to Mrs. Whitmeyer for all the paper footballs that entrenched themselves in your bouffant hairdo during church.

I Put the Haste in Chasten,
Perry Crisp