Chaplain Lynn Wade

We all have met unforgettable characters during our life.  One of those outstanding humans for me is Chaplain Lynn Wade.  My first knowledge of Mr. Wade came from tough sailors with whom I came into contact in church.  They learned to trust in Christ because of the influence of Chaplain Lynn Wade while they were stationed on  the island of Guam.  It seems he confronted men with the gospel in the most militant ways imaginable.  He was not a roughneck himself.  I remember him as tall and trim--even wiry. He wasn't a buff bruiser, but his voice was strong and demanding.  He was military in personality.

Once when he preached in our little church in Eagle Rock, his tithing sermon was from the text in Malachi that says, "Will a man rob God?"  He made his point indelible by reaching over the railing at the stage, grabbing a handful of money from the offering plate and shoving it into his coat pocket.  Change went jingling and rolling across the floor.  But not a soul who was there missed or ever forgot this message.  Well, at least we didn't forget the illustration.

We were a very small congregation, and I'm afraid we had become a bit lax in our prompt attendance, especially for the evening service.  One night we arrived two minutes tardy (maybe three) for evening service, only to find Rev. Wade's note pinned to the door.  "I was here at worship hour and evidently you cancelled it without giving me notice, so I went elsewhere to worship."

We were so impressed by his zeal for the gospel that we even named one of our sons for him.  Paul Wade Keller was our third son.

I was told by someone who was there that Lynn Wade once rode his motorcycle on the sidewalk in Philadelphia when he was in Westminster Seminary.  When I brought it up to him, he didn't seem to think there was anything funny about it.

During the General Assembly of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, held in Denver, CO, many preacher's kids were in attendance, and they wanted to have fun.  When Mr. Wade discovered that one of the kids had filled the sugar container with salt, he rose to his feet in the dining hall and bellered out a brief sermon, rebuking whoever it was that had wasted God's good provisions.  It was his own son who had pulled the stunt, however, and I don't think he ever confessed.  It can be tragic when such an intense person cannot balance his life with a sense of humor.  I cannot pretend to know how things developed in their home.  I do know that the children were made to memorize the catechism rigorously.  But I also know that his children rebelled when they had the freedom to do so.  I hope they repented and came back to the Lord in later life, but I just don't know.

Lynn Wade was suffering with cancer and radiation treatments when I drove him to a speaking engagement.  He was lovable because he loved Jesus, and so do I.  But I didn't have to live with him.  He said that the treatment was sometimes worse than the disease.  I think that was the last time we spoke in person.

It is my observation about Lynn Wade, and many other good men since, that gifted men are often also severely flawed men.  I'm sure Mr. Wade brought more men and women to Jesus Christ than I have in all my ministry.  I know that he made an impression on men who would never be fazed by my attempts to share the gospel.  God uses all kinds of people.  The good is all of grace, but personality is part of God's preparation for such ministries.  Martin Luther is a wonderful case in point.

At War With Each Other

While riding my stationary bike the other day, I was playing a CD of Barbra Streisand.  She was singing a song called "Being at War With Each Other".  It went like this:

     Everyone comes from one father, one mother
     So why do we complicate our lives so much
     By being at war with each other?


     Mmm...maybe I'm crazy but I don't understand it
     Why do we seem to vote to dig more holes
     It's such a waste of a planet


     There must be a reason that I can't see
     Maybe somebody else now knows better than me....

I'm pumping the pedals, trying to get lost for 20 minutes while I engage in this minimal bid for exercise that seems so hard for me.  And I'm actually listening to the words this time.  If you are able to ignore her politics long enough to bathe your ears with her torch song mode and strong convincing voice, it yields such auditory pleasure.  But this time I'm actually listening to the words, and I say--almost out loud--Hey, Barbra, I know the answer to that one!  You're not going to believe it, but God has actually given us an answer in the Bible.  In fact the brokenness of human nature is one of the major themes of Scripture.

And then it occurs to me that my pagan culture does see the problem, but they are terrified to admit it.  We are all broken, and only the original Manufacturer is able to repair us.  And that is the story line of the entire Bible.  Part of that broken condition is the stubborn refusal to repent and cry out to God for help.  Like a foolish toddler with a kitchen knife, we'd rather do it ourselves.  So we go to 12 step programs, or to psychiatrists, or to the local pub and seek solutions.  Hundreds of dollars and years later we have only discovered there are a lot of other broken people out there to join us in our misery.

The Bible teaches us that human misery and human sin are related as cause and effect.  When we declare independence from our Maker, and kid ourselves that we can make it on our own, we become "square pegs" and it hurts when we try to fit square pegs into round holes (the world as originally designed by God).  But the problem is so much more than the logistics of square pegs and round holes.  There is a moral dimension.

We are not just "broken" but instead we are rebels against the holy God who made us and all things.  We find ourselves hating Him because He will not let reality revolve around our personal interests.  He wants us to be holy, loving and helpful.  We want pleasure, attention and wealth.  We want to be god.  And that was exactly the sin committed by Adam and Eve.  Yes, we all come from one father and mother, and that is only part of the problem.  They passed on to us those perverted chromosomes, and we are guilty, hellbent, broken sinners.

But God, who is rich in mercy, because of his great love toward us has made us alive together with Christ, and raised us up and seated us together with Christ in heavenly places.  By grace you are saved.  This is the heavenly position that is given to everyone who turns from his sin, and asks God to forgive him for Jesus' sake.

Date Night

Over the years date night has been important for us to cultivate our marriage. Besides that, Barbara is really my best friend, and it's just plain fun to be together. Okay, before you puke over this drippy sentimentalism, I want to share with you one of our special date nights. It must have been on or about our 15th anniversary. Our plans were not very imaginative: dinner and a movie. But God's plans injected a little tragedy/humor that made it a little more memorable. (Otherwise it might have been lost in my deteriorating synapses.) We were in Wilmington, Delaware, and the weather was threatening. Actually there was steady drizzle, though not a true eastern rain. The kids were safely in the charge of a trusted baby-sitter, and we were on the road, when suddenly our car sounded like an airplane. The muffler popped loose from the exhaust pipe. If that has never happened to you, I want you to know that it is a racket that you cannot blithely ignore. Our family car was making rude noises in public. Like loud flatulence at a Quaker meeting, this had to be stopped! Finally I pulled the car to the side of the road where we could be a little secluded. My suit was a little old so I removed my coat and slid under to see what I could do. During my wriggling and contortions I managed to tear my pants all along the crotch seam. I gerryrigged a wire coat hanger and quieted the car, but now I had the challenge of continuing my date with clothing disrepair. Returning home would seriously truncate our evening plans, so we plunged ahead. Only when we reached the restaurant did I realize the extent of my seam damage. I asked Barbara to walk close behind me, and we must have looked like a clown act as she stuck to me as close as chewing gum on the bedpost. We were seated at a table with a covering that extended over the edge but a few inches. I was suddenly keenly aware of the challenge facing modest girls in short skirts. I was seriously distracted all through dinner, trying to remember to keep my legs crossed. As I remember, we both got the giggles before the evening was over. What had begun as a "tragedy" turned into sublime providential humor. As you can tell from this log, it has become a lasting memory.

Tarantula

When I was in grade school we lived about two blocks from the hills in Eagle Rock.  We kids climbed around those hills daily during the summer months.  On occasion we saw the Occidental Cross Country team running by us.  Castor beans grew in the wild and oak trees dotted the landscape.  There were trap door spiders to observe, and/or capture.  But the most discomfort for an 11 year old boy was the tarantula.  I remember a neighbor sweeping one off his driveway into a large jar.  It's not a love/hate relationship, but rather a terror/fascination relationship I have with spiders.  And when one is as large as my hand, and black and hairy as well...it really creeps me out.

I've been told that tarantulas are really not dangerous.  Well they may not be poisonous, but the danger for me, waking up with one on my chest, would be the danger of a heart attack.  I know they are available in pet stores, of all places.  I remember reading in the paper about a boy who brought his pet tarantula to school for show and tell.  As boys are prone to do, he tried to show him off by not only handling him, but giving him a kiss!  According to the newspaper account, the spider bit his lip, but he only suffered a painful swollen lip for the prank.

One of our trips through Kings Canyon National Park encountered about four tarantulas crossing the road.  I was fascinated.  Telling the kids to stay in the car, I stepped out and approached these scary little beasts.  You will have to tell me if it was my imagination, but I'll swear that they hissed at me.  I could see the lead spider raise its head and front legs at me, and I heard a distinct hiss.  Of course I turned on one foot and headed straight back into the car.  It was a classic case of cross cultural communication.

Murder in Seal Beach

Here we go again.  Another wicked man has taken his gun and blown the life out of 8 people in the clean, friendly neighborhood of Seal Beach, CA.  I hate when this happens.  I hate it, but I'm not astonished as many seem to be.  God has told us about the moral warp that has infected the human race after the fall.  In fact it was rather early in history that God said, "Every intent of the thoughts of his heart is only evil, continually."  Or Psalm 14 that says that God looked down on the children of men to see if any did understand and seek God, only to find that they are all together become filthy, and there is no one that is good, no not one.  The events in Seal Beach on Wednesday are just another unfortunate outcome of the sinful condition of human nature.  There should be no great surprise here for a Christian. Grief, yes, but no surprise.

The irony is that our culture seems fanatically determined to believe that human nature is basically good.  This is what gives the media commentators pause when angry sinners lash out with irrational slaughter like this.  Sooner or later (for the defense attorney it will be sooner) someone will try to give a reasonable excuse for this behavior.  They seem to display a religious commitment that requires the isolation of this man from society.  He was out of his right mind because of his boating accident, or because of the threat of losing custody of his 7 yr. old son.  There has to be a reason...something other than admitting that there is a dark side in every one of us that will drive us to unspeakable deeds if left unchecked.

Then we might hear the skeptics and atheists cry out, "Where is God when things like this happen!"  I'll tell you where God is.  He is still saying that these were not worse sinners than any others, but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.  Life is suddenly over for 8 people, and the lives of dozens of others have been irreparably scarred by the loss of loved ones.  Providence teaches, no, shouts at us, that life is short.  Life would be senseless if that is all there is, but when you know that after this there is a judgment, it begins to come back into perspective.

The very first message that Jesus preached was summarized by, "Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand."  Every man, woman and child needs to know that they could be snatched into eternity without even a moment's notice.  If that innate sense of justice is going to be satisfied, we'd better believe in the judgement seat of Christ.  Without it, the existentialists are right to say life is absurd.  But they only say that.  They do not live as though they really believe that.  When Jean Paul Sartre railed against his own government for cruel behavior against the Algerian guerrillas for their immoral behavior, he had to publicly admit that he was speaking in flat out contradiction to his philosophy.  We all know right from wrong, and when right is not rewarded or wrong is not punished in this life, there is no resolution if one stubbornly refuses to hear God speak of heaven and hell in the bible.

Proper dignified minds may belittle the belief in a "sky high heaven and red hot hell" but without the Bible's perspective on eternity, those same proper people are left with no ultimate meaning for life.

Let us morn those who were senselessly murdered.  But let us take this harsh lesson to heart.  It is appointed to men once to die, and after this: the judgment.

Little Stars

Whenever I attend a wedding (rather than conduct one), I look for the stars of the show.  That would be the flower girl and the ring bearer.  They are such cute miniature humans!  They can be so delightfully unpredictable, and therefore account for some of the most memorable moments in what occasionally becomes a tedious routine in our culture.

Barbara, the preacher's daughter, remembers the groom who fainted...twice!  They finally brought him a chair to finish the ceremony.  She also clearly remembers a wedding performed at the manse during which the ring fell, rolled along the floor and fell down the vent of the floor furnace.

But I digress.  I was reflecting on the little stars of the show.  Like little Raymond who was the ring bearer for my daughter's wedding.  At rehearsal, he balked and cried, and simply WOULD NOT walk down the aisle.  The next night, we were prepared to conduct the wedding with or without his cooperation.  But this time, sporting an adorable little tux, and now with a church full of terrifying people, he marched down the aisle like a pro.  You never know.

When my son was married in Memphis, the ring bearer DID become terrified by that great crowd.  They begged, cajoled and finally dragged him down the aisle.  And when he arrived, he anchored himself to the leg of my other son, serving as a groomsman, clinging for dear life, and never let go.

More recently when our nephew was married in the San Francisco area, the scene was outdoors at a picturesque park, seemingly made for the purpose.  Someone had thoughtfully sewed the ring to a satin pillow for the ring bearer to carry to the pledging couple.  But when he arrived, alas the pillow was there, but not the ring!  The groom's father, known to be a quick thinker, took off his own ring, and the embarrassed couple used it because of the urgency of the occasion.  I still have a snapshot of the wedding party, on their hands and knees, routing through the grass, looking for the lost ring.  They didn't find it until they brought a metal detector the next day.

The little flower girls have not left me with such dramatic recollections.  I remember a flower girl, with a basket full of flower petals, who did not drop a single one on her trek to the altar.  Some have cried all the way.  And I do remember one who shouted "No" to her mother, who was trying to tend her after she arrived up front.  The memorable part of this scenario was that she shouted right after the minister asked, "Will you take this woman to be your wedded wife?"

Hair

I heard Dennis Bartell on the radio this morning, with his little great composer quiz.  The question was which composer was vain about his hair which was blond and flowing.  He was small of stature and his face was pale of pallor, but his hair was outstanding, and he was proud of it.  The answer is Mozart.  Actually I guessed the correct answer, but it got me thinking about hair.

I remember when classical musicians were called "longhairs" with something of disdain in the voice.  But culture evolves, and at my age I can see that culture evolves all too rapidly.  So this "longhair" epithet has fallen into disuse because today it is the rock musician who has the long hair, and it is part of his shtick.  Young impressionable girls swoon over the shrieking rock star as he nearly swallows the microphone and his shoulder length hair flairs around him.  It is far more likely that it would be the fan of classical music (who is usually much older) who might use "longhair" as a derogatory epithet for the rocker.

Then I remember when men with long hair were excluded from proper Christian fellowship.  Now it is quite common.  In fact that same rocker mentioned in the last paragraph might lead a worship team on the stage of a church with "contemporary" worship style.  We are so influenced by culture.  If we are not adopting worldly standards of culture and behavior, we are at least confused by culture, and our senses become dulled.  We major in the minors.

Ray Commeret, a now deceased colleague of mine, was a bit maverick in his methods, and generous in his sense of humor.  I remember the day he drove in to French Creek Bible Conference with a full black beard, rolled down the window of his car, and said in his excellent Brooklyn Jew accent, "Is this the House of David?"  He had just returned from an extended vacation to pick up children at French Creek, and it was obvious that he had not taken a razor with him on vacation.  I understand that he hadn't used his razor yet when he first entered his pulpit after vacation, and his sermon title was, "How Long is Christian Hair?"  I have no idea what his text was, nor just how he preached Christ from it, but knowing his integrity as a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, I'm sure it was a legitimate Bible text, and I'm sure he pointed people to the Savior.  Compared to some of the dramatic antics of Old Testament prophets, this was not really far out of line.  He was a living example of how we can major in the minors.

When I look at old photos of myself, I sometimes laugh at the hair.  It wasn't that long, but it was simply old fashioned--and the sideburns!

Somebody obviously thinks that Jesus had long hair.  In fact the famous Salmon portrait of the Christ portrays a rather effeminate, western European face with long hair.  Who is this?  Are we to believe that Christ sat for the portrait?  In what museum might I find the ancient camera that captured His likeness?  And yet every "miracle" appearance of Christ in porch light shadows or burnt pancakes is identified by the same general image.  Why do we reject the rendering of the black Christ?

Scripture says that there is nothing outstanding about His physical appearance.  There is no beauty that we should desire Him.  His human nature must bear the Mediterranean Jewish coloring and bone structure.  I wonder how many westerners would be pleased with his appearance.

I love Jesus because He first loved me, and gave himself for me.  His physical looks will not even be noticed by believers when we see Him face to face.  In that day we will see perfectly, and when we see His face, we will see the lover of our souls, and that is all we will see.