Firestone fosters prayer

The year the the Firestone Tire Company hyped an ad campaign for a super tire for the family auto was the same year the Keller family was vacationing from Wilmington, DE to California to visit parents and others.  It was a natural move for us to buy the two new tires we needed for this long trip from Firestone.  So we packed our station wagon with kids and dog and headed west.  However, this highly touted rubber donut turned out to be infamous before the year was finished.  And thereupon hangs a tale of our adventures.

We must have been in Wyoming by the time we realized we had purchased two of those pneumatic wheel covers destined for recall.  Really, really in the middle of nowhere the cadence of our tire hernia grew more and more pronounced until we had to stop and check.  Of course we had a spare, but it was not fun to empty the rear of the station wagon and get the spare and the jack.  A rat (perhaps a prairie dog) had found refuge under the wheel I had removed, and it made me jump when he dashed away as I was picking up the old tire.  Now what?  It was a new tire, and we were determined to get a refund.  So with a handy rope or bunji cord we tied the defective tire to the roof of the station wagon, and drove on.

When the station wagon is loaded with 6 children 2 parents and a dog, traveling can be an adventure with many distractions.  We used to say that the dog was the best traveler of all.  Talitha, our faithful poodle mix, was happy to be with her family, and as long as we filled her bowl with water whenever we stopped to eat or gas up the car, she was quite content to lie on the floor beneath the feet of the children.  Or occasionally she would lie across a couple laps and enjoy strokes from one or more of the kids.

But traveling highways in deserted country is just a bit unnerving to a father who felt responsible for all these souls in the midst of hostile environments.  Not dissimilar from that of the patriarchs in their prairie schooners.  Okay, so that was a little over the top, but you get my point.  We were in the desert, and I felt vulnerable.

Traveling with this restless crew is most readily accomplished by covering as many miles as possible while most are sleeping.  This requires the driver to drive all night, and she who rides "shotgun" to help him stay awake.  This strategy brought us into the wilderness of Nevada in the early hours of the morning.  Now the steady drumbeat of the next tire hernia was detected by all.  We couldn't change the tire since the spare was already in use, and the other tire was awkwardly strapped to the roof of the car.  I slowed the car, hoping we would get more mileage with gentler use.  Also there was the consideration that a blowout on the highway might not be so injurious at a lower rate of speed.  But the next town was several miles ahead.  What should we do?  We were feeling desperate, and desperate people learn how to pray with importunity.  Providence had us in training.

Weary from the tension of the circumstances, we saw the green sign announcing the approaching town.  Some relief began to creep into our bodies.  At least from here it would not be far to hike to the nearest service station, if need so dictated.  As we approached the first gas station we saw it was closed.  Remember this was rather early in the morning.  Then we had the boldness to seek a station for which we held a credit card.  We never seemed to have much money, and didn't carry much when we traveled. It would be best if we put the expense of the new tire on our credit card.  After passing another station simply because it was not a sponsor of our credit, we found a Mobile station.

As we were pulling into the driveway, just passing the gas pumps, there was a rather loud "bang" as the latest hernia ruptured.  Barbara laughed and said, "Well, I guess they don't need to ask us why we are here."  Now the tension was over and prayer was wonderfully, and humorously, answered.  I have been certain since that moment that God has a sense of humor.

We saw a place for breakfast just across the street from the Mobile station, and the kids were dazzled by the fact that even here there were the famous lights and one-armed bandits so famous in the silver state.  How satisfying to have our car road-ready again and our bellies filled with ham and flapjacks.  So off again, but now with two misplaced tires tied to our station wagon roof.

Auto Mechanics and Prayer

Did you ever pray for the "healing" of your car?  Well, I did, and I confess it was to my surprise that God wonderfully answered that prayer.  I had to be at youth camp.  I think I was "the man" in charge.  The water pump in my car had sprung a leak, so I would be delayed.  I asked God to help me know what to do.  But when I started the car again, the leak had stopped.

The weekend ministry was accomplished.  Kids are always challenging, but such great fun.  As far as I recall we were all blessed with the word of God and good fellowship (and, of course, a certain amount of silliness).

After this was over, and I had returned home, the water pump began leaking again.  I'm not going to say that mechanical problems are best solved by prayer.  But the facts are that I prayed for help, and that's exactly what I got.  God "healed" my car for just long enough to give me a successful weekend of ministry with young people.

Being a poverty case preacher, of course I set out to fix it myself.  I removed the old water pump, took it to Pep Boys and laid it on the counter.  My father's expert mechanic friend taught me to take the part to the store and compare every screw hole and flange with the new one.  Often the paper work identifies the "right part" that has an extra protrusion or slightly different screw holes that can only be identified by eyeballing the two.

I put the car back together, and what's this?  The water pump was squirting like a baster.  I'm no crack mechanic.  I must have done something wrong.  Maybe I forgot a gasket.  So I took it all apart again.  If you've done this yourself, you know that it always seems to require the removal of other things like the air conditioner pulley or some other housing just to access the part.  So when I finally pull out the water pump, it looks perfect.  Gaskets are intact and bolts had been tight.  Well, I put it together again, only to find the leak is still there!

This time I pulled the part and took it back to Pep Boys to have them tell me what I was doing wrong.  The guy at the counter says, "Just a minute."  When he returns to the counter, he tells me that they tested the part in the back and found that it was defective.  He gave me another one, and this time it worked.

So the sum and substance is this: the worn, defective part--the part that was prayed over--worked for the needed time.  And the newly refurbished part--the part that just came out of the box--did not work.  God likes to work the ironic.  Little is much when God is in it.  A man's skill or wisdom is a fearful thing to trust.  Proverbs 3:5, 6 comes to mind.

Resolutions

My wife still remembers sitting in the doctor's waiting room, overhearing a girl with a broken leg who said, "I'm giving up dancing for lent."  Just how impressed did she think God might be with her resolution of self sacrifice?

New Year's resolutions are ridiculous.  The concept itself carries the proof of the insincere intentions.  The fact that one waits until the New Year to make the resolution is the evidence that there is no hearty resolution about it.  I'm going to keep my New Year's resolution to never go sky diving again.  The fact that I have never had a desire to do this, plus the fact that I am 77 years old and have no business trying such a foolish, dangerous thing, makes this resolution most certainly successful.  But what does such a resolution mean?

If something is worth changing in your life, why wait til New Years to make the change?  If it is something wrong or bad, that is to say sinful, then it's worth doing December 30 or January 2 or any other day of the year.  "I resolve to stop killing other people, starting New Year's Day."  No, that won't fly.  Obviously ludicrous, but when we are talking about sin, it is no more ludicrous than saying, "I resolve to stop coveting the riches of others, starting on New Year's Day."  Oh I see, that leaves you one more day to indulge that sin.  Better do a lot of it to make up for the deprivation you will suffer in the future.

It's like Mardi Gras, fat Tuesday, as a day of debauchery and gluttony before the self-deprivation of lent. Does anyone actually suppose God is fooled by such obvious ill intentions?  Does anyone actually want to serve such a small-minded god?  It's only a game quite like the New Year's resolution.

Christian friend, you know your resolution.  I resolve to kill sin more effectively and live more godly.  But, dear friend, we must remake that resolve every day, and alas, more than once each of those days.

Singing apocrypha

You have to realize how doctrinally hard nosed is my church before you will appreciate what I have to say today.  This is the church who chooses not to sing "and opened the life-gate that all may go in" when we publish "To God Be the Glory" in our hymnal.  The committee took the pains to modify Fanny Crosby's first verse to read "that we may go in" instead.  The original could have been construed to mean that Jesus is the Savior of the whole world, meaning every race, tongue and tribe have one, and only one Savior offered to them in the Gospel.  But just to jealously guard the doctrine of election, we needed to modify it.  Okay, the Orthodox Presbyterian Church is doctrinally up tight--even paranoid?  I love this church, and partly for that reason.

What amuses me at this time of year is how we let sentiment, tradition or whatever it is, lead us into singing outlandish apocrypha.  Try "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear" (Trinity hymnal #200).  Where is the Scripture that tells us Jesus was born at midnight?  The hymn makes no reference to Christ or His saving work.  Instead it anticipates a golden age that eventually comes over the earth with peace.  It leaves out reference to the saving atonement because it was written by a Unitarian pastor who didn't believe in the atonement.

How about # 204, "Away in a Manger"?  In the second verse baby Jesus wakes up, but no crying He makes.  How do we know that?  Is it sinful for babies to cry?

"See, amid the Winter's Snow" (#199) has great words, but what's this stuff about winter's snow?  Bethlehem gets plenty cold in late December (too cold for shepherds to be abiding in the field with their sheep), but snow is rare at this latitude and altitude.

I'm not outraged (should I be?).  I'm not crusading for hymn revisions.  I'm simply amused that my doctrinally hard nosed church sings apocrypha this time of year.

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.