Prophetic Voice

I have just been reading a hard-hitting book about the lack of prophets in our day. Who stands in this day and declares, “Thus says the Lord!” with boldness and anointing? Prophets were hard men who lived hard lives and had hard ministries. What truth has grabbed my heart this afternoon is that prophets heard from the Lord.

They had a fresh message. Prophets spent time in isolation so they could have conversation with God. Prophets spoke for the Lord. They did not come up with their own messages. They spoke what God told them to speak. They were echoes of what the Lord had revealed to them in the secret place and the secret chambers of their hearts. Preachers today are echoes of other men.

I once attended a preacher meeting where one pastor suggested we spend our time swapping sermon outlines. Nausea welled up in me. Preachers get their sermons from books, the internet, cds, and magazines. Where are the men who sit before the Lord seeking Him for the message? Where are the preachers who long for a word from the Lord more than another felt need hot topic pep talk?

This is not the most efficient way to prepare to preach. I have been asking the Lord for the better part of the day what I am to preach this Sunday. As of now I have no direction for the Sunday morning or Sunday services. I spent the vast majority of the morning in pursuit of God and His word for me and this church. What do I do? Do I panic and steal some other man’s stale left over sermon or do I keep pleading with God to put something in my heart.

Normally I feel called and enjoy the challenge of preaching through books of the Bible. While on my prayer/writing retreat last week I sensed the Lord tell me, “Trust Me to show you what to preach.” Until the Lord says otherwise I am departing from preaching through the book of Philippians. One more message and we will finish the third chapter. This study has been rewarding for me as I have sat with the Lord and labored through verse after verse. God wants me to seek Him and to hear from Him in a different fashion. God wants me to speak with a prophetic voice to echo what He says to me. I do not know what the message is.

This morning in my Bible reading several verses hit me like a jack- hammer about the power of the voice of God. [Ps 29:4-9] I long to hear that voice on a consistent basis. I want to emerge from my study and enter the pulpit with the assurance that God has spoken to me and set my heart aflame with His message. I need the Lord to open my spiritual ears so I can hear more clearly.

Many times the voice and the message of the prophet were not well received. Prophets come across as arrogant, aloof, negative, and angry. I look at prophets a little differently. I think prophets were not arrogant and aloof. I believe they preferred to keep company with God over men. I figure prophets wanted the voice of God than to hear the hundreds of voices of men. So they declined social invitations and spent more time in the prayer closet than at the country club. Prophets might have been angry but I think the solemn message God kept imparting to their hearts caused them to be sober men. The frivolous things of the world held little appeal for them. Their hearts and minds were consumed with a mandate from God often of impending doom if God’s people did not repent.

Prophets lived with the weight of God’s heart for their nations, communities, and the work of God. Many times they were wanted men. Despite opposition true prophets were fearless in their mission to speak on behalf of God. I want that anointing and prophetic mantle to fall on me. I want God more than church growth, men’s applause, or ministry success. I do not want to live out my days as an echo of other men. I want to be a prophetic voice whom speaks for the Lord.

Permit The Children Come Unto Me

We start VBS tonight. This will be our first one since moving to Seminole. We expect several children. Brenda has taken an active role in the planning along with two other ladies. Normally I just hang out during VBS but we were a little short handed in the three and four year old class. The Lord convicted me to get involved. I will be spending the week loving on and helping with those preschoolers.

Jesus had time for children. When the disciples tried to push them away Jesus had a far different attitude that ought to speak to us. Read it for yourself. “And they were bringing children to Him so that He might touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, ‘Permit the children to come to Me do not hinder them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” [Mark 10:13-14]

The word “permit” means to allow, and not to hinder. Regardless of my position in the church I do not get a free pass during VBS. If I can help young children come to know the Lord what a blessing that will be. I get to make some new friends.

So many adults are too busy with our schedules and with our jobs. Taking some time out for a week like VBS is not the high priority. Yet by our attitudes we can hinder people from getting to Jesus if we are not willing to work and to serve our children. Working with children is work. They can be demanding, unruly, whiny, selfish, and inconsiderate. They on the other hand can be loving, honest, eager to learn, and eager to please. Thank God for children.

I walked into the nursery area today and thanked all those people who volunteer to love on children. Those people reflect the heart of Jesus. I think of the three ladies who have devoted countless hours to organizing and preparing for VBS. They have the heart of Jesus. I think of our many adults who volunteer in AWANA, teach Sunday School, and who serve in our children’s church ministry. Most of those people work all day throughout the week and then give their time to mold those tender and precious lives. They all have the heart of Jesus.

This morning a precious little girl found me after church. She drew me a picture of her, her brother, and me. She went through a great deal of effort to craft that picture for me. It was a special blessing. I love children. They are full of life, energy, and willing to make new friends, even if they are older like me.

I admit working with preschoolers is way out of my comfort zone. I am a little nervous not knowing what to expect. I am also excited that for these next few nights I get to love, listen, play, teach, and befriend a few dozen three and four year old children. I say with Jesus, “Permit the little children to come unto me.” We are fifteen minutes from beginning. I had better hurry to my place.

Gentle Rain

It rained last night and today. Over three inches fell. It has been extremely dry here in East Texas. My host talked to me about selling some of his cattle due to a lack of grass. His grave concern was turned into joy last night when the Lord sent a gentle rain. It fell heavy and steady for several hours. The thunder kept me from sleeping.

Today at lunch it rained so hard I could not see out the window across the parking lot at the restaurant. Seeing my friend’s countenance and to hear him repeatedly praising and thanking God for the rain blessed my heart. He told me we were looking at a million dollar rain because that is the impact the rain will have on the economy. Over the next days the brownish grass will turn a deep shade of green. Fuller harvest of hay will be cut and baled. Cattle will be better nourished. Vegetables will grow. God’s gentle rain is a blessing.

During this writing/prayer retreat I have given almost every waking hour to praying about revival, writing about revival, or reading about revival. I see God’s gentle rain that replenishes and refreshes the earth, like God’s spiritual rain that revives His church. Both are needed desperately.

By the look of things the church needs revival. The Southern Baptist Convention reported a drop in baptisms last year. Several denominations report drop in membership totals. The nation continues to battle greed by top corporate executives. Marriages are continually under attack. College students continue to drift away from Christ and the church. Same sex marriage is a cancer on society. Things look very bleak. Just like a parched summer pasture thirsty for a gentle rain.

Periodically in history God has chosen to invade time and space and send His gentle rain of revival. Those are special times. I have been reading about several of those visitations over the past several days. I continue to cry out to God to send two different kinds of gentle rain. I pray for physical rain to come in a gentle soaking fashion especially to Gaines County to replenish the land and nourish the crops. I also cry out for spiritual rain to come transform the church, rekindle the hearts of His people and to save the lost.

God is Lord over both. It does not matter what the forecast says. God can send both kinds of rain any time He chooses. I pray He chooses to do both in these days. His resources are abundant. His compassions are new every morning and they do not fail. Therefore, I am confident that I will experience both kinds of gentle rains. I already saw rain while on my prayer retreat. Now I expect it see it back home in West Texas.

It has been a long time since I have been drenched in the spiritual rains of revival. I continue to plead. Like the old song says, “Mercy drops round me are falling but for the showers we plead.” Lord, send gentle rain.

Gate Four

I’m sitting in gate four at the Midland International Airport. This might as well be a portal into another dimension. I’m headed to East Texas to spend a few days in my prayer cabin. I have two main agendas. I want to be renewed by the Lord before the busy activities of the summer hit in full stride. I also plan on working on a new book to be used in preparation for our upcoming revival entitled 40 Days to Shake the City. I do not have time to spare to complete this project in order to make it available to our church forty-days before August 1.

I do not know how many trips I have made to this prayer cabin. I know I meet with the Lord there in powerful ways. He speaks to me and I am able to give Him my undivided attention. I will be there for three and half days. I have much I hope to get done.

Sitting here in gate four I am filled with anticipation about all I will experience before I come home on Friday. I cannot wait for those long sustained times of prayer, for the hours I will have to write without interruption or distraction. I am excited about sitting before the Lord and His word and asking Him to speak clearly to me.

Many are praying for me. I have sought out over two dozen people who have committed to pray for me during the next ten weeks as I prepare to preach and lead our church in revival. This trip is a significant part of my preparation. I do not have time to spare or waste hence why I am using this time waiting for my flight to jot down a blog.

If you want to pray for me over these next days and weeks here are some specific things you can pray for me.

1. Pray for me to meet with God in powerful encounters through His word and fellowship in prayer.

2. Pray for me to hear from God clearly during these days of preparation.

3. Pray for inspiration and anointing to write the 40 Days to Shake the City devotional book.

4. Pray for my zeal for the Lord to increase accompanied with a burden like I have never known.

5. Pray that I will be sustained in my preparations to be used of God as an instrument of revival.

6. Plead with the Lord to come move in powerful ways to revive His church and community.

God has my heart. He has seized my attention. I feel like a man possessed with a vision from the Lord. The Shake the City Revival has consumed my thoughts, prayers, and mental energies. I cannot earn a revival by more effort. I most assuredly cannot manufacture one. I can submit and ask the Lord to intervene. My first steps are to be willing to leave Brenda and the boys, the flock God as entrusted to me, and my regular routines to go pursue God and get His heart for the revival. Farewell from gate four.

Burden and Boldness

I read a story yesterday afternoon about a pastor who could not be consoled when nobody was saved after he preached on Sunday nights. He would go home and cry out, “Why? Why? Why?” He would not eat or drink anything but agonize in prayer. This preacher carried a great burden for the lost.

That little story impacted me. I preach to empty altars more Sundays than not and I questioned myself if it truly bothers me. Am I burdened that few are saved? Are my eyes moist with tears as I pray, preach, and pastor? I pleaded with God to give me a burden for the lost this morning. I asked the Lord to share His heart with me concerning those who perish without Christ. I do not want to become a comfortable professional preacher. I want to be a pastor who lives with a sense of the impending doom of people without a relationship with Christ. I want to be disturbed in my soul and broken in my spirit both day and night.

We are an apathetic bunch. We have read the scriptures and know the final outcome of people without Jesus Christ. We know they will face the righteous judgment of God and feel the full force of His fury for eternity but still we are unmoved. Our eyes are dry. The prayer room is empty without intercessors pleading and wrestling for the souls of men and women. We sit sleepily in our cushioned pews careless and calloused about the spiritual plight of people who do not have a relationship with Jesus.

Where are the tears? Do we not care? Do I not care? Can this preacher sit dry eyed and tight lipped when so much is at stake? I beg God to give me a burdened heart. I am not willing to stop there though. I don’t just want a burden but also the boldness to talk of Christ anywhere to anyone.

I want the boldness to take the message of Christ to the dark corners of Seminole and the dark places of this world. I want the fearlessness of God to well up in me so I can talk of the Lord without shame or compromise. I want the burden to so burn in my soul that the gospel erupts like lava from a volcano.

Jesus had a burden and He also had boldness. Paul had a burden and he fearlessly preached Christ wherever he went. He was opposed. He was persecuted. Yet, he boldly shared Christ regardless of the personal cost. What about you and I? Do we have a burden? Do we feel anything for the lostness of our cities? Where has the boldness gone? Why have we become so scared and intimidated into silence.

God, you alone can break our hearts for lost people. You alone can make us tender and allow us to feel the love and compassion you have. You alone can fill us with boldness. We are a timid and cowardly bunch. We are an apathetic and hard- hearted people as well. So I come asking you to change me from the inside out. I ask you to transform this preacher until I am a man consumed with your burden and filled with your unflinching boldness.

Iron Indians II

The early morning Iron Indian workouts are growing. We now have two coaches and five fathers who show up on a regular basis along with dozens of student athletes. God is doing something with all of us as we perspire gallons of sweat. Camaraderie is being built. We are developing a new vocabulary. Sevens, Defranco complex, ultimate bench, sleds, sledge-hammers, triceps death and flipping tractor tires have all become pretty routine for us.

It is not always easy to drag yourself out of bed for the early morning workouts. In fact, I will have to confess that I was tempted to sleep in a time or two over the past couple of weeks. Yet, I think about my teammates paying the price to get out of bed and it motivates me to throw the covers off and grab my gym shorts and a t-shirt.

I was thrown a curve ball on Thursday. We have a routine in our workouts. Monday is chest day. Tuesday is back and shoulder day. Wednesday is core day at the “Big Room”. Thursday is bicep and triceps day. Friday is a rest day. Saturday is leg day. We have seldom made leg day because Taylor, Tanner, Tucker, and Turner are all playing baseball. Tanner’s game lasted until 11:15p.m. last night and they won 13 to 12. I am glad today is Friday and rest day.

Wednesdays are hard. Flipping tractor tires is brutal. Coach Burtch estimated the biggest one (which he insists he and I use) weighs between 350-400 pounds. He had us flip that tire three sets of ten repetitions. This was in addition to slinging a twelve-pound sledge-hammer on a different tractor tire three sets of ten repetitions on the right side and then repeated on the left side. There was pulling sleds laterally, blocking dummy throws; ten over the head, ten to the right, then ten to the left and repeat the whole thing again.

I was looking forward to Thursday. Bicep and triceps day is not as hard as the others but coach threw us all a curve ball. Each morning we walk into the weight room and look on the board to see what mental and physical torture coach has invented for us that day. None of us were prepared when we looked at the board and discovered we were doing a leg workout.

Let me see if I can recall the routine. We started with dead lifts. I have not done dead lifts in years. I knew I was trouble. Dead lifts three sets of eight. Box squats three sets of ten. A box squat is when you do a squat by coming to sitting position on a bench and then you try to explode up and off the bench. We did three sets of twenty toe raises. Three sets of thirty jumping over blocking dummies laterally on the floor. This was followed by three sets of six dumbbell step-ups. On this exercise you grab a dumbbell in each hand and step up onto a platform. This was all followed by running up the bleachers in the gym five sets up hitting every step and then five sets of hitting every other step. To top it all off we finished with an abdominal routine that consists of four different exercises all being done in succession with thirty repetitions each. To say I was spent afterwards is an understatement. Sitting in this chair my legs ache. I will pay the price for neglecting the leg works out over the past several months.

Sometimes the hardest thing about the Iron Indian workouts is the mental labor to push and to fight through pain. Over and over again I have to get my mind right to endure whatever new routine meant to tax us both physically and mentally. For me yesterday that included overcoming doing dead lifts, running bleachers, and doing the dummy jumps. Isn’t life just like that? We are thrown some curves and have to gut out difficult times.

Few people ever plan for things like cancer, Alzheimer’s, surgery, divorce, financial set backs, or death of loved ones. Life can be running along smoothly with no hiccups and then suddenly the rug gets jerked out from underneath us. There are days you have to will you to get out of bed, pay the bills, go to work, cook, wash the laundry, mow the yard, and yes even attend church.

Life is a series of gut checks. We constantly face the mental labor of having to endure difficult seasons. We get pushed to the breaking point physically fighting fatigue which can lead to emotional fatigue. How many are at their wits ends trying to keep up with the pace of life. I cannot tell you how valuable the Iron Indian workouts have been more to me spiritually and emotionally as much as physically.

Now here is the best part. When we do life as a group surrounded by brothers and sisters in Christ we are able to endure easier. Jase helped me yesterday. His challenge, example, and encouragement help me push past fatigue and the fiery burn in my muscles and lungs.

Let me conclude with an illustration. Last week on bicep and triceps day I finished up with a little triceps workout I came up with several years ago. I did not invent the exercises but put three exercises back to back to back. At first Coach Burtch called them the “Brother Matt’s.” I hated that name and wanted something more manly and descriptive. His solution: “Triceps Death.” I loved it.

Triceps Death was my last exercise of the day. I decided to push myself by doing heavier weight than I have ever done before. Here is the work. Three sets of ten “skull crushers”, followed by close grip bench press, and then push ups. I breezed through the first set pretty easily. The second set was way more difficult and I had trouble finishing the pushups. I knew the third set would be brutal. I got through the first two thirds of the routine but my triceps were spent. I really had nothing left.

I dropped to the floor to get through the pushups by pumping them out as fast as I could which worked until I got to the halfway point. Everything in me was ready to quit. The next thing I know I had a sophomore young lady (who is one our Iron Maidens and a power lifter) on her knees shouting in my ears not to quit, telling me I could make it. After a few minutes of rest in the up position I labored past two more repetitions. Now others joined this girl in encouraging me. I pushed out another repetition. I only had two left but I had no strength left. Sweat drops formed puddles running down my nose and off my forehead. My triceps were screaming for relief. I wanted to quit. Now it seemed the entire Iron Indian group had stopped what they were doing to cheer me on to finish. I barely squeezed out another rep. Only one left but I was past muscle fatigue. Everyone was shouting words of affirmation and challenging me not to quit. I dropped down and began pushing with every ounce of energy I had left. Half way up I locked up. I could not get all the way up. Then as I listened to all the dozens of people spurring me on I felt just enough of a surge of energy to lock my arms out to finish.

[Hebrews 10:24] “And let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds.” In the same way the Iron Indians stimulated, encouraged, and pushed me to finish strong, fellow believers can do the same in the arena life. So go ahead. Come along someone and encourage them not to lose heart but to press on. Find those who are close to giving up and shout words of affirmation into their ears and spirit. We can do more together than we can alone. I know in soul I would have quit if that young lady had not come down beside me to challenge me to finish. Now, I must do that for someone else in the game of life today. God, thank you for the Iron Indians and Maidens.

Stroll Down Memory Lane

Last week I drove east on I-20 five hours until I came to Weatherford, TX. I made the trip to console a precious friend or ours after the loss of her husband. When I pulled off the interstate onto highway 51 I drove down old familiar countryside toward the community of Spring Creek.

I served as the youth minister at the Spring Creek Baptist Church for two years from 1991-1993. Brenda and I were married a month after I was called there. We saw the Lord save many students and do a great work in that church. As I sat in Mary Helen’s living room we laughed and laughed about old memories. It had not dawned on me that nearly twenty years had passed since I served in that church. It seemed just like yesterday.

We laughed about the time I was caught half way up an extension latter in the sanctuary headed for the second story window of the sound room. My first thought was to say to the deacon who caught me, “I have been meaning to talk to you about getting a key to the sound room.” I don’t think he knew what to say after that.

We talked about how I broke the preacher’s pew, which set upon the stage, while trying to move it by myself. It slipped out of my hands landing on one of the legs, which snapped like a twig. I sure regretted having to call one of the deacons to inform them. I later in my tenure there tore up the church van at the drive thru at the bank. I banged the whole side of the van against a pole and crunched the passenger side door in the process. I opened the door to see if it would shut which it didn’t. I tied a rope around the handle and drove to a youth camp meeting hodling the rope in my right hand and tugging on it to keep the door closed.

That was not the funniest story. I cannot tell it for personal reasons but all I can say is that the story will forever be known as “The Church Pole,” story. I finally confessed the details of that story to those sitting around the living room. They had never heard it and had not clue it ever happened. You could not keep the laughter back.

For years I thought I would come back to that community and pastor that church. I waited several times as different pastors would leave there for a call to send my resume. The call never came from them but came from other places. Now I know God had a different path for me, which would ultimately lead me to West Texas to the sweet town of Seminole.

It is good to stroll down memory lane from time to time. It is good to remember but we can spend too much time looking back. A flood of memories came to mind as I drove past the old church building. I could visualize the inside of the sanctuary, my old office, the gym, and of course our old youth room. I recalled different events, but mostly I remembered all those people who touched our lives over the course of those two years. I am saddened by the death of my friend Benny but rejoice in the truth that he was saved and loved Jesus. He and Mary Helen along with our friends Junior and Helen were inseparable. We spent many hours together.

I can’t go back and recapture that chapter of my life. Though I strolled down memory lane I sprinted back home toward the goal of the high calling of Christ for me to serve as pastor at First Baptist Seminole. [Phil 3:12-14] I must not spend the remainder of my ministry looking back at the “good ole days” but rather keep trusting God and looking forward to those same experiences where He has planted me. Life in Seminole is blessed and sweet. I trust God for similar precious memories made during our ministry here.

It was good to stroll down memory lane. It was better to come home to my family, flock, and a host of new friends who have welcomed us with open arms. Our beloved friends and flock from the past cannot be replaced but God can add new memories and create new strolls down those