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During my visit home, my Uncle Pete came to hear me preach and eat some of my sister’s good cooking.  Now Uncle Pete gives me great hope – he’s 81 and could pass for 60.  He still works everyday, holding up a load that would kill a lesser man.

Uncle Pete is a cattleman.  He’s been working cows since he was old enough to stay on the back of horse.  When school ended for the day, he and my mother would saddle up and ride out to rope and doctor screw worm calves on a swampy Florida ranch.  As a man, Pete entered rodeos on the weekend and worked cows and managed the biggest livestock market in Florida during the week.

God alone knows how many cows Uncle Pete has seen during his lifetime.  There are some things you know only through experience, and when it comes to cows, Uncle Pete knows.  So after a great Sunday lunch, I asked Uncle Pete to ride with me out to our pasture and tell me what he thought.  For the next hour and a half, I got a tutorial from one of the best cattleman in the state of Florida.

He would point out a cow that looked good to me and tell me she was too muscled and wouldn’t bring much at the market.  Details that I would miss, he caught, like the cows whose bags made it hard for calves to get milk.  Keep an eye on them, he said.  We talked about grass and pasture renovation and all the intricacies of running a ranch.  I walked away with a mental list of things to do and a profound respect for the man who knows about cows.

Who tells you how to run your life?

Most Americans turn to the gospel of Oprah, or the Testament of Dr. Phil.  Check any book store and you will find shelves filled with self-help books.  How do you know if you can trust these prophets of positive thinking?

Ask these questions:  What is there is their experience?  How often are they wrong?  Are their motives self-serving – to get you to watch more often, or buy something?  Has the advice offered stood the test of adversity?

God’s counsel to us stands up to these tests.  More amazing, His guidance has proved valid for thousands of years.  So read the Bible – apply it to your life.  Pray.  Ask God for help.  Listen to the Holy Spirit – follow God’s leadings. 

If you need advice about cows or ranching, call my Uncle Pete.  If you need guidance for life, eternity, relationships, finances, life choices, or your inner world, ask God – He wants to help you, because you matter to Him.

I’m preaching a revival - renamed a Simplicity Conference - at my home church, New Hope Baptist Church, in Wauchula, Florida.  These are some of the best people in the world.  When I was a child they taught the stories of the Bible, fed me kool aid and sugar cookies, and loved me.  It was one of the greatest gifts a child could receive.  The good people of New Hope taught me the value of belonging, and taught me to love church.  That’s why from my earliest memory, the call to be pastor sprouted and bloomed.  The people of New Hope had already plowed the field.

Some familiar faces are gone.  Others have aged.  I saw my first girlfriend - from first grade.  Her oldest child is engaged now.  I ran into a girl I dated in High School - she has five grand children.  My Aunt Ouida, 93, blind but strong, made both services.  I want to be like her when I grow up.

Alzheimer’s and age are slowly robbing some others of the memories.  I can see it in their eyes - I look familiar - but they can’t quite make the connectons.  But I still owe them the debt of gratitude - and recognition.

My home church is hopeful these days.  They have a new pastor, who seems to have a lot on the ball.  I’m asking God simply to help me honor these people who nurtured me, and let me be a little gasoline for their future

Let me recap some things I’ve been thinking about Rev. Wright and the controversy about the sound bits from his sermons:

1.  It’s easy for a preacher to get in trouble.  We talk so much and can get lose with our words.  Plus, we can easy have something lifted out of context and be mis-understood.

2.  We must be careful not to let the Gospel be interpreted solely through our lense - our perspective.  Yes, our culture, our race, our education, and our socio-economic background does influence the way we read the gospel.  But we have to intentionally step back and ask what would this mean to someone from different background.  What is the broader perspective?

3.  Race is an ongoing issue in our country and our community.  We need to be respectful that we have no idea what it means to be of another race.  But we also need to be clear - in Christ, there is no racial division.  When anyone erects such a line in a church, it is man made and sinful.

4.  We must always remember to love our God more than our country.

5.  Put your trust in God, not politicians - or preachers!

 It was an order from the Roman government – extra large nails.  The blacksmith knew what they were for, but business was business.  He fired up his forge, heated a cold slab of iron, and began the pounding of the glowing metal.  As was so often true, his customers wanted quality work, but they wanted it yesterday.  It was late in the evening when he plunged the last nail into the cooling water.  The Roman centurion would be there in the morning, first thing, to pick them up.  How could the blacksmith know that these nails would hold the Son of God to a cross – that it would his sins that would forgiven, while his Savior was held by his nails?
She had a reputation for quality work – there were no picks or skips in her weaves.  Her cloth wasn’t cheap – she aimed for the high end of the market.  Her customers were the elite woman of Jerusalem, and the aristocrats who prized her burial linen – it was the finest that could be had.  So it was no surprise when Joseph of Arimathea came by her market stall in a hurry one Friday afternoon.  He needed six yards of burial linen – he didn’t say why.  She was shrewd enough to eye his anxiety and knew he would not haggle.  She cut the cloth and called out the price – 100% over what she would normally settle for.  He didn’t bat an eye, but paid, took the cloth and hurried away.  She cursed herself for not asking for more – the man clearly would have paid whatever price she asked.  How could she know that her cloth, from her loom, would wrap the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords?
His hands were permanently curled, always ready to receive a chisel and hammer.  It was the fate of ever stone mason.  He had apprenticed during Herod’s great building expansion and had moved up from cutting building blocks to creating masterpieces.  As a Jew, he could never chisel a statue, for that would be a graven image.  But he could take stone outcrop, and fashion a tomb with gentle curves and smooth surfaces.  It was that kind of care that gave him a waiting list of customers. Just last week, he finished a project that a rich out-of towner whose dream was to be buried near the Temple.  He had been well paid, but it was time to start on another tomb.  It was near his last project, the one he had done for Joseph of Arimathea.  He heard that Joseph had not used that tomb for himself, but for some crazy rabbi from up north.  Funny what people do.  When he went to work that Sunday, after a Sabbath of rest, he noticed all the commotion by Joseph’s tomb – people running around, soldiers coming and going, even a priest or two dropping by.  How could he know that the tomb he carved out of a mountain would be used once – and then discarded by Jesus, who conquered death a little earlier in the day?
You never know when God will touch and use what passes through your hands.

 Every room in our home has been re-done since we moved in almost 14 years ago – every room but the kitchen.  The original wallpaper was long out of date and the colors simply didn’t fit the rest of the house.  We had put off renovating because we knew it would be a chore – stripping wall paper, spackling, sanding, priming, and painting.
I finally bit the bullet and started stripping wallpaper about three weeks ago.  Last week, I gave a couple of late nights to spackle over huge sections of the damaged wall.  Then on Saturday, we lined up for the main event. 
We had invited some teenagers to help us, offering to pay them a little.  We started with the sanding, then we wiped down the walls, and then we primed the space. 
The clock registered 6:00 PM and we faced a choice – quit and go eat (my vote) or push hard and put on the paint.  I was outvoted.
We painted fast and furious.  Fast and furious painting also means paint gets on the floor (in spite of drop cloths), on the counters, on the ceiling, on our clothes, in our hair (or in my case, on my scalp), and on the furniture.  But by 8:00 PM, we were done!  The transformation was startling.  The room looked fabulous.  Sure, we had to touch up the white trim, but overall, things looked great.  We went to eat and celebrate.
When I got up the next morning, things still looked great, although a little dark, due to time change.  It was in the afternoon with the sunlight streaming through the windows that we noticed the thin spots, the streaks, and the places we just out and out missed.  Oops.  It didn’t take us long to decide on a second coat.
This is what I learned from that experience.  When God first comes into your life, the transformation can be startling.  You feel a peace you have never felt before.  You find old temptations no longer attractive.  The truth is you are different and things look different.  Then God’s Holy Spirit shines a stronger light to show you places where you are not done.  We need another coat of grace, we need to touch up the unfinished parts, we need to let God complete His work in us.
Many believers chicken out here.  They feel its too much work.  But God wants to bring you to completion.  Let Him finish His work.  Let His light show you where you are not yet done.

I was listening to NPR this morning and they had a story on a group of parents from different faith backgrounds joining together to teach their kids common values. (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=87809254).

Families from Protestant, Muslim, Jewish, and Bahia backgrounds all were talking about the commonalities of faith.

Now I am not a neanderthal - I believe we should treat all faiths with respect.  But this part of the story caught my attention:

And to that end, Layli calls the children to the dining room table. In front of each child sits a little lamp shade.

“Remember how we talked about how religions are a lot like lamp shades?” she asks the group. “They may look different, they may be different colors or sit in different rooms, but they all have the light of God inside of them.”

The kids glue symbols of various religions onto the shades — a Christian cross, a Buddhist wheel, a star and crescent for Islam. Then Layli calls out, “Come to the light!” And the children, one by one, place their decorated lamp shades on a light bulb.

This is not right.  You don’t have dig very far to find out the god of Islam is very different than the God of Christianity.  Buddhism leaves the whole question of God open ended.  The Christian understanding of God is not the same as the Jewish understanding.

This is the kind of story that is sweet and nice - the kid’s voices are cute and the underlying premises is “Let’s all get along.”  But the God we worship is different.  All religions do not hold the same light nor do we teach the same things.  We may share common values, but there are clear distinctions.

The Gospel of John makes a clear statement about the light:

In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it (John 1:4-5).

Christianity makes this clear claim - Jesus is the light.  Period.  It’s not the same light.

Last week during TruLife’s “Ask the Pastor,” I received this question: “What about homosexuality?”  It was a pretty open ended question.
I responded as I have before, by saying that I believe homosexuality is wrong, but we should not make the mistake of believing it is more wrong than any other sin.  This sin, like all others, is covered by the grace of God through Jesus Christ.  Then, I shared again the story of my cousin Bret.
Bret was born two years after me and we played together as children whenever he and his family visited from Colorado.  When adulthood came, we didn’t see each other as much.  Family gossip had it that Bret was gay – but he was still family. 
When my grandmother died, I remember all of us being at the graveside, hugging each other as families do.  It was comforting to have my wife and children with me – and I felt sorry for Bret – he was alone.  He turned toward me, with his arms out for a hug.
At that moment, I knew he was seeking more than a hug from a cousin; he was seeking a hug from a pastor.  I’m used to have dual identities and it was time for a split second decision – embrace or not.  What would Jesus do?
I reached out.  I embraced him.  We shed tears for our amazing grandmother, who lived a life full of grace and love.
I’ve told that story a lot through the years, because I think it embodies my understanding of Jesus’ response to people who are gay.  They need love and grace, too.
This past spring I saw Bret at a family gathering.  We sat across from each other and talked – now two middle age men, he aging much better.  I asked about his life in Denver.  He was training jump horses and working with junior riders.  And he had started going to church.  He liked the music, he said.  He had not seen a church with drums and guitars before.  He wanted to know if I had ever heard of a church like his.  I smiled. 
As I listened to him, I could tell God was at work in his life.  He was asking the right questions, making better choices, some days moving three steps forward and two steps back, but he was moving forward.  As we parted I told him it was good to see him and I hoped he would keep going to church.
When I told that story Wednesday night, I said “There is grace for my cousin Bret.”  What I did not know then was Bret was in a morgue in Denver.  He had died on Sunday, but was not discovered until Wednesday. 
As I write this, the cause of death is still unknown.  His father and our family are still in shock.  I wish I could travel to the funeral in Colorado, but it simply isn’t feasible or wise.
I think Bret had faith – not perfectly formed, but about the size of a mustard seed.  That’s enough to move a mountain of sin out of the way and open a life to God’s grace. 
As I have thought about Bret these past few days, I always come back to that hug at the cemetery.  I’m glad I did it, I’m glad I didn’t hesitate, I’m glad I could be cousin and pastor and friend.
Bret was more than the sum of his sins.  He was also a child of grace.  Hugging my gay cousin at my grandmother’s grave reminded me I’m a child of grace too. 
Thanks be to God.