Pastors' Blog

Nothing like welcoming the New Year with an explosion . . . or two or three . . . and I’m not thinking of the fireworks over the Times Square ball drop either!

I was out walking in the Michigan chill before sunrise early this week, mulling over the spate of non-stop headlines we’ve become accustomed to of late. And as I brooded over it all, two words came to mind. “Chronic”—because how else can you explain the incessant, seemingly interminable march of bad news that’s become our daily fare. And then alongside “chronic” popped the word “entropy”—a word scientists have tucked into the second law of thermodynamics to describe the gradual disintegration our universe experiences, slowly but surely degrading toward disorder. “Chronic entropy” then becomes the fitting description of life on the planet, incessantly marching toward disintegration, where in fact what is “new” (as in new year) becomes simply an accelerating degradation of the what is “old” (as in old year).

Not a very cheery notion for a brand new beginning, I’ll admit! Which is why along with the couplet “chronic entropy” we must add the couplet “blessed hope.” Because if I read the apocalyptic portions of Holy Scripture correctly (Matthew 24, Mark 13 and Luke 21 along with Daniel and Revelation), the chronic entropy that all of them describe is but the harbinger of the second advent of Christ and the eventual restoration of an entire cosmos previously destined for disintegration. That means that even our New Year headlines—Israel and the Hamas at war, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, North Korea, the still falling U.S. economy, the disintegrating global economy, the chronic entropy of nature/ecology, the moral entropy of the human race—are in themselves a quiet assurance that the “baddest” news  2009 can bring us is but the predicted harbinger of the greatest news of all—the return of our Creator-Savior. No wonder the Bible calls it the blessed hope!

And no wonder Jesus called our generation to such buoyant confidence: “‘So when all these things begin to happen, stand straight and look up, for your salvation is near!’” (Luke 21:28 NLT).

“FBI wiretaps snare governor.” The bold headline atop the morning paper is the sad chronicle of another political leader who has succumbed. Living across the lake from Chicago as we do, the story of the fallen governor of Illinois has obviously become the lead headline in all our news outlets. The paper carried portions of the expletive-deleted transcript of some of those wiretaps. And U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald’s reflection that Lincoln would be rolling in his grave is commentary enough.

Integrity. Leader. When those two words fail to align, the results are not only sad, they are tragic.

Interestingly enough, both words play out in that midnight narrative of the Bethlehem inn’s backyard cave, in the flickering light of the shepherds’ raised torch, where slumbers the infant form of the Eternal God. Question: why would the Sovereign of the universe, the Creator of its intelligent life forms and the Designer of its galactic habitats, reduce himself to an implanted seed in a teenage womb and be born in the stench and hovel of poverty? Answer: Leader, integrity.

It is enough to take your breath—this notion that the divine and supreme Leader of all was so moved, so driven by the integrity of his love that he was willing to assume both responsibility and penalty for his earth children’s dishonesty and rebellion. It would have been stunning enough had he sent a celestial ambassador to convey his concerns. But in utter transparency, the Leader came himself, “to meet life’s peril in common with every human soul, to fight the battle as every child of humanity must fight it, at the risk of failure and eternal loss” (Desire of Ages 49).

The integrity of leadership, the risk of love—how dramatically opposite that headline long ago with the one today. But in that very antithesis is the hope our own guilty hearts can cling to. “Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst” (I Timothy 1:15 TNIV). No wonder we sing with the angels at Christmas!

Nathaniel Philbrick, in Mayflower, his acclaimed history of the Pilgrims, recounts how William Bradford, the intrepid leader of that courageous band of Puritans, years later described “that first morning in America.” Recalling with wonder their landing on the salty, windswept shores of Cape Cod Bay on November 15, 1620, Bradford wrote: “But here I cannot stay and make a pause and stand half amazed at this poor people’s present condition. . . . [T]hey had now no friends to welcome them nor inns to entertain or refresh their weatherbeaten bodies; no houses or much less towns to repair to, to seek for succor. What could sustain them but the spirit of God and His Grace? May not and ought not the children of these fathers rightly say: ‘Our fathers were Englishmen which came over this great ocean, and were ready to perish in this wilderness; but they cried unto the Lord, and He heard their voice and looked on their adversity’” (46). His words are appropriate, not only because we  celebrate the nearly four century tradition of the Pilgrims’ thanksgiving this week. But in Bradford’s description—“they cried unto the Lord, and He heard their voice and looked on their adversity”—perhaps we also hear the faint hint of a day of adversity yet coming upon this land of the Pilgrims. Could the breath-taking speed with which this nation’s hourly economic headlines are unfolding or unraveling these last few weeks be a portent of what is yet to come? Could this land of the free have already seen her best days? Scribbled on the page of Revelation 13 in my Bible are these words written a century ago: “The Lord has done more for the United States than for any other country upon which the sun shines” (Ms 17, 1906). Hardly a prideful claim of superiority or grounds for national arrogance, this quiet observation simply declares a common truth that this country has enjoyed the uncommon blessings of Providence. And in the sunlight how easy is the spirit of thanksgiving. But should the days turn dark and the supernal blessings wither away, what shall we be grateful for then? A year after their landing, the Pilgrims gathered for that first  thanksgiving—half of their band already buried beneath the Massachusetts sod. Yet they gave thanks to God. And so must we. No matter the uncertain voyage that spreads before us, nationally or personally. The Almighty is still that. And in the darkest storm his mercy will yet triumph. Just look at Calvary. “Oh, give thanks to the LORD, for He is good! For his mercy endures forever” (Psalm 136:1).

We have lost a gifted leader and a dear friend. The death of Jere Patzer, 61, president of the Seventh-day Adventist Church in the Pacific Northwest, is not only the death of a personal friend—I’ve known Jere for thirty years since ministry days together in Oregon. But it is also the loss of an uncommonly gifted church administrator in our community of faith. Jere’s passion for God and his church, his energetic vision and buoyant leadership style, his personal commitment to mission lived out in his own evangelistic preaching on nearly every continent (all the while serving as an administrator), his loving devotion to family (his wife Sue and sons Darin and Troy and daughter Carissa and their four young grandchildren) and friends—it isn’t hyperbole to recognize that men like Jere are a rare gift. And I shall miss him.

I was thinking of Jere as I wrote and preached last week’s teaching on theodicy, “Is God to Blame?” Jere waged a two and a half year battle against non-Hodgkins lymphoma. His emails through that dark and difficult passage of his life, however, are not only the candid admission of suffering and pain—they are also the brave and confident testimony of a disciple of Christ, who not unlike Job, declared, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15).

In 2003 Jere wrote one of his four books, The Road Ahead: A Vision for Spiritual Leadership in the 21st Century. His autographed copy is one I now treasure. In a chapter dealing with the adversity that all leaders face, he noted that “sacrifice has always been part of leadership” (117). As an example, he cites a letter William Miller, one of the progenitors of our community of faith, wrote on May 3, 1843: “My health is on the gain, as my folks would say. I have now only twenty-two boils from the bigness of a grape to a walnut, on my shoulder, side, back, and arms. I am truly afflicted like Job. And about as many comforters—only they do not come to see me as did Job’s, and their arguments are not near so rational” (118). Touché!

Jere never embraced the evil that cut him down. Nor did Job. Nor did Jesus. But woven through the final chapter of his life was the shared testimony: “For this reason I also suffer these things; nevertheless I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that he is able to keep what I have committed to Him until that Day” (II Timothy 1:12).

Jere lived and led with the radical hope of Jesus’ return, as does his family, as must we all. For in a world as unsettled as ours and a life just as uncertain as his, trusting in the only One who can save us is the most rational hope of all.