He would have been 49 today.

I stopped in my insurance agent today, and had to sign a paper. When I hesitated before putting the date, she said, "It's the 29th." I responded with a "sheesh." and she said, "Yes, the year has gone fast."

But my "sheesh" came for a different reason. My brother would have been 49 today. He died several years ago of an intentional overdose. He just couldn't take being an addict anymore. It was so bad that he chose to take his life over it. So much for drugs being an escape from one's problems.

I do not know his eternal destiny, although things don't look good. He was antagonistically agnostic. He had a Buddha in his house, but when questioned about Buddhism, he admitted he did not really know much about it. I think it was mostly there to antagonize any Christians who might enter, like me.

He tried 12 step programs, but they don't work so well when you refuse to have anything to do with a higher-power. And yet, he believed in something. He was, among other things, a mountain climber. He said once, "You can't stand on a mountain and look around and say this all happened by chance. There has to be a creator."

Yet, he didn't like the creator. He didn't want to have anything to do with a god who would let children starve, or any of the other seemingly unexplainable miseries that befall mankind.

Brother, you are still loved and missed. I wish we could have talked more, although I don't know if it would have changed anything. I wish you peace. I pray that in those last moments, you wrestled with God and lost, that you might win something greater.

The basics of the Gospel

I posted this a while back, and was watching it again. Man is it powerful. Hard to watch this and think about church tomorrow. I think of the girl he sat with, and it makes me think of sitting next to my brother who was addicted to heroine. At least Matt realized how awful the message was...it took me a while to do the same.

And if you watched the first, here is another....

Going to Jerusalem

At the beginning of Chapter 2, Paul is headed to Jerusalem with Barnabas and Titus to present the Gospel to those there after a time of 14 years. I find myself asking why? Why to Jerusalem, the center of the church at that time, Isn't this where the apostles were? Isn't this a dangerous place for Paul?


I can think of 2 reasons he might need to go:

1. Some were complaining that Paul was not preaching the truth. This is a very real possibility, since many there were of Jewish background and probably had a hard time with what Paul was saying, who he was saying it to, and the success he was having. Verse 3 sheds a little light on this, as "not even Titus, who was with me, was compelled to be circumcised."
2. Perhaps it was that "they" (those in Jerusalem, from the leaders to the everyday Christians) needed to hear it and be reminded of the Gospel message. Verse 2 states that Paul "went in response to a revelation and set before them the gospel that I preach among the Gentiles, so we should assume that God was ordaining that this should take place.

Perhaps it was a combination of both. This just convicts me all the more of the need to guard ourselves from becoming complacent about the Gospel. If we think we have it down, if we think we have the truth and are okay, I think we are in danger. The Scriptures constantly remind us to be on guard. Thinking we have  it right is not being on guard.


What are you hearing this morning in your church? Is it truth? Or is it just a bunch of moral goodness dripping from the fountain of a Christ-less well? Or maybe there is just enough God in it that we can pat ourselves on the back and walk out feeling good about everything.


It is not that we shouldn't leave church feeling good. It is just that we should leave it feeling good for the right reasons. I can't help but remember the day that my heroine addicted, agnostic brother agreed to go to church with me. After hearing what I thought was a stellar sermon that could have answered some of his questions and helped him deal with his problems, I asked him what he thought. His response haunts me to this day. He thought it was lame. What if he had come to your church this morning? Did the message preach to the choir? Were the Christians shouting "AMEN?" What would a non-Christian taken away from the experience? Would it be that this is a good bunch of people, or would it be that we serve an awesome God?


Should we ever have a Sunday that does not share in a powerful way, what an awesome God we serve?

Maybe he was right, This is lame.

A few years ago, my brother was living with us for a while. I cannot begin to describe in a few lines what his life had been like, but suffice it to say that while here, he was trying to kick a heroine habit.


One night, my brother and I were out in the back yard talking about life. He had many amazing things to talk about. And some very sad things as well. We talked about a lot, including thoughts on God. My brother was a strong agnostic. He sensed that there must be something out there, but the God of the Bible (as he interpreted him, anyway) was not appealing to him at all.


During the course of our conversation, I invited him to attend church with me the next day. He said that he had not been in a church in over 20 years, but that he would come.


After the service was over, we talked about it. I had hoped that the preachers words might have struck a cord with him. But it was a short conversation, and it went something like this...


Me: What did you think of the service this morning?


Him: I thought it was lame.


Me: Oh. How about Mexican for lunch?


Him: Sure, I like Mexican.


Lame! I couldn't believe it, and wasn't sure how to respond. But now, looking back, I wonder if he was right. The sermon hit me because the preacher said all the things I already knew and agreed with. Nothing to challenge me and apparently nothing to challenge my brother with either.


I guess I have become a little more critical lately. Not of God, just of what we do as a church. (See previous post if you have a strong stomach.)


My brother is gone now. Took his life when he couldn't muster the strength on his own to kick the habit. And he was dead set against letting God or any other higher power do it for him. I miss him, and I wish I had the chance to tell him that he was right.


I don't want to be a lame Christian. Not anymore.

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

My younger brother would have been 47 today.


My brother was an amazing individual, with great stories to tell, but I never heard most of them. I do know of his move to Las Vegas, his climbing mountains, his creating huge machinery. I even know about the time he spent the night trapped in a snow cave on one of his climbs. I have seen some of the pictures he took from atop the mountains. Breath-taking and beautiful.


He told me, not long before he took his life, how he knew that this life did not happen by accident, that just did not make sense to him. But then, a god who who let little children suffer did not make sense to him either. And he could not honor such a god.


He told me of his trip to Seattle. And about how the whole reason he left Las Vegas and went there was simply because a voice told him to go. A literal, audible (to him at least) voice that spoke to him. He did not know where the voice came from or who it belonged to, but he followed. He followed it again as he was in Seattle, and got off an exit. There he drove past a machine shop, stopped in and was hired. His new boss became an avid fan and supporter of his climbing efforts. He was on top of the world, literally and figuratively. But like any mountain-top experience, it did not last for long.


When he came back home again, it for a different reason. This time it was not a voice, it was his circumstances. Homeless, living on the streets of Seattle, near death and out of options, he asked mom and dad for a plane ticket home. They loved their son, and got the ticket for him. They were not prepared for what they saw when they picked him up at the airport. He was not the son they remembered. Instead, before them was a tall man who was nothing but skin and bones, the effects of a heroine addiction.


He recovered. Not through a 12-step program or a religious experience, but just out of sheer will-power. An amazing feat for anyone who understands the power of the drug. For ten years he stayed clean. But then he gave in again. By now, Mom and Dad were gone. He reached out to me and my brother. We did what we could to help. We took him in, took him to recovery centers, helped him get things back in order while he sweated out the withdrawl process. He found another job in a machine shop. His boss found him to be an amaingly talented machinist. His talent so impressed the owner of the company that he invested in new machinery that he would operate. But the power of the drug was too strong for him.


He tried to commit suicide, but his roommate found him before it was too late. Barely. Another treatment center. A 12-Step program was a part of that treatment. But he wouldn't have it, he refused to let any kind of a higher power run his life. The lies and deceptions began again.


It wasn't long before tried to kill himself again, and this time he was successful. I remember getting the call from my older brother, not wanting to believe it, but knowing it was true. He was gone.


He left a note. In it, he apologized. He spoke of how he loved his family, his brothers, their wives and his niece and nephews. He also said that he just couldn't take it anymore.


Not all stories have a happy ending. This one certainly didn't.


I have an older brother. We were talking recently about our younger brother, about God, about life. He told me that believed that Jesus died for our sins and that everything happens for a reason. He also told me that he couldn't worship a god who would not let his youngest brother into heaven.


I can. I do.


I don't like the thought that he might not be there. But I will leave that in God's hands. I know that God loved him and pursued him. What I don't know is if that made a difference for him. Perhaps at the end, he cried out, like the thief on the cross. Maybe not. But I cannot and will not put my own brother before God.


There is a Scripture that puzzles or puts off a lot of people. It goes like this.


"If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple." Luke 14:26 (NIV)


It is not that God is an egomaniac. It is not that He is jealous of my brother or any other family member. It is just that He is God. And as such, I need to trust Him. For me to say that He shouldn't allow so much evil in the world, or that I wouldn't serve Him if He wouldn't let someone into heaven is just me putting myself in His place. I don't have to watch Bruce Almighty to know that I don't want that job. Besides, He doesn't really want me to hate anyone. In fact,  I am told that a more accurate translation of the word hate in this instance is "to love less."


My younger brother would have been 47 today. He could have beaten the addiction. He should have surrendered. I love him. Always will.