Author: Dave Dishman (Page 311 of 459)

I climbed a winding set of stairs in order to enter the balcony. Standing in one of the most beautiful churches in the country, it was hard to imagine the disjointed spiritual history of the place. I visited First Baptist Church of Charleston, South Carolina, as part of a conference to learn about the racial history in Charleston, and to hear from experts about how to make better history in the future.

The pastor of First Baptist helped us grasp the significance of the balcony. Before the Civil War, slaves stood up here, while their owners sat in pews on the floor. Slaves entered the church through side doors before heading up the stairs— the mixing of slave and free forbidden.

The pastor acknowledged the painful history of slavery in the 200 year-old building, and talked of steps taken to build better relationships with other churches in town. Since the shooting of nine people at a Bible study several years ago (at Mother Emanuel AME church) churches in Charleston have worked with renewed vigor to overcome deep-seated racial divides.

Then, this humble leader pointed out what proved to be the most stunning lesson of my time in Charleston. Enslaved blacks, packed shoulder to shoulder, listened weekly to white slave-owning preachers. Even when hearing the gospel from people they despised, many, many, many of those slaves in that balcony gave their lives to Christ. 

Only the gospel of Jesus Christ carries such power.

Can you think of a worse way to convert someone? Enslave them, beat them and work them hard all their lives, then ask them to follow your religion? While the assurances from slave-masters sounded like clanging cymbals, the words of Jesus brought faith, hope and love. I stood in awe, breathing it in. God’s grace truly cut through a multitude of sins.

The church recently installed a plaque (seen above) commemorating their enslaved members, and they no long use the side doors in honor of those forced to use them in the past. The plaque reads:

IN MEMORY of the thousands of enslaved members of the First Baptist Church of Charleston whose names we do not know, but are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. 

Revelation 7:9 

May we humbly acknowledge our past, and realize that we possess the same powerful, life-altering gospel of Jesus Christ to give to our world.

As a gardener I initially resisted the act of pruning. Why would I take a healthy, strong part of a plant and cut it off? But I quickly learned that pruning focuses growth. Pruning allows the plant to focus its energy on producing fruit that’s sweeter, juicier and fatter.

Which is exactly what the Lord wants us to become—sweeter, juicier and fatter.

To get there the Lord prunes aspects of our lives, or asks us to take up the shears ourselves. Some things seem obvious for me, like turning off the TV and picking up a book, or forgoing that late evening bowl of ice cream (although it tends to help with “fatter”).

But the Lord cuts deeper. I experienced three organizational restructures in four years where I work. Each restructure moved people I enjoyed away. Each changed the cadence of my work and travel. Each shifted my responsibilities and influence. The last cut away a personal vision for contributing to the mission. I felt pruned to the nub.

Here’s what I often miss—the Lord prunes in order to create energy for better fruit. Out of my pruning surfaced time to reflect and look around. A creativity class popped up in my inbox, I signed up and met a great group of encouraging people, and the idea for a daily blog on Bible reading emerged.

Today I’m serving in a new role—in a different department of the same organization—with refreshed vision and space to roam. I anticipate greater contributions to come, and look to the future with excitement.

After pruning, anticipate greater fruitfulness. Not initially as the cuts heal, but as growth takes off in new, unexpected areas (I think one reason gardeners talk to plants is that we want to remind them that the cutting will lead to wonderful fruit).

I am the true vine, and my Father in the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.

In the midst of the pruning, try to remember the promise of the master gardener. He cuts and discards so that you and I might grow sweeter, juicier and fatter.

John 15 in week forty-five of reading the Bible cover to cover

Photo by Markus Spiske

I take breathing for granted, until I’m hiking here in Colorado, or coming up for a breath in the pool. Then I notice my need to breathe.

The week I read in Ezekiel about piles and piles of dry bones forming an army. The Lord put them all together—bones, tendons, flesh and skin—then as the final step breathed life into each.

Today I read the psalmist describe idols from the surrounding nations: They have mouths, but cannot speak, eyes, but cannot see. They have ears, but cannot hear, nor is there breath in their mouths.

Of course, I don’t expect statues made from precious metals to come alive, but more distressing are the following words for those who look with reverence on such idols and the gods they represent. Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust in them.

Those who follow false gods lose their breath.

Breathing is precious and life-sustaining. How much more the breath of God? The man who follows false gods never gains the breath of God. He never comes alive.

Or, perhaps more pointed toward my life, my choices to turn from the Lord and follow the false gods of this world mean a slow smothering of the breath of God in my life. It’s like I’m sinking farther and farther underwater, ignoring my need to kick to the surface.

No breath in their mouths—a fate I avoid by staying connected with the source of abundant life and breath.

Psalm 135 in week forty-five of reading the Bible cover to cover

Photo by Raj Rana

I’ve always liked Thomas, the doubter among those who walked around with Jesus, probably because I’m a doubter myself. Lots of questions swirl around in my head when I hear someone speak, and although I rarely voice them, I give attention to my doubts.

As Jesus prepared his disciples for his impending crucification and resurrection, he spoke of leaving and returning and how the disciples should understand this—You know the way to the place where I am going.

Thomas responded, “Huh?” Actually, that’s my paraphrase. Thomas really said, Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way? Seems like a good question to me.

Jesus answered, I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.

Jesus was going to the Father, and there’s only one way there. That’s what Jesus helped Thomas understand. Thomas knew the way because Thomas knew Jesus.

Despite common platitudes, only one road leads to the top of the mountain—the way of Jesus. Not Buddha, not Confucius, not Krishna, not Kali, not Mohammad, not witchcraft, not paganism, not secret societies, not wisdom, not education, not donating massive amounts of money to charity, not a life of good works outweighing the bad, and especially not some vague belief in an absorption into the universe.

Only Jesus.

No doubt.

John 14 in week forty-five of reading the Bible cover to cover

Photo by Quaritsch Photography