This is a sermon based on Pete Briscoe’s idea of a modern day understanding of the Biblical concept of the Bema.

I will sing of the loving-kindness of the Lord forever. I will make known with my mouth how faithful You are to all people. 2 For I said, “Loving-kindness will be built up forever. You will make known how faithful You are in the heavens.”

Thanking God that the song doesn’t end. Nothing can stop the rhythm and meter of this melody. Death, separation, doubt and despondency are no match for the strong and unchained  sound of God’s grace. It has passed through ages of war, pain, oppression, bondage and unthinkable holocaust and yet the sound is steady and strong. It is tall enough to reach the heavens and powerful enough to break the bounds of oppression. It was sung as a dirge on a cruel cross on a Friday but returned as a dawn-breaking, triumphant wakeup anthem on Sunday.  Thank You God that the song never ends.

He needs to eat, to be loved, and held closely.
He needs to be protected.
The little guy can really do nothing for himself.
He’s a high maintenance gift from God.
Such a miracle! Such an overwhelming revelation of God’s power and artistry!
But as you bathe him, provide for him, He’s going to need something from you.or advise on girls and cars.
This precious child needs something that will never fade.
It’s a gift that is found in the quiet times and lonely places of your life.
Eternity is in the balance. It is dependent upon this gift you’ll give him.
More than college funds, and clothes.
Even more than wise counsel, as important as that is.
He will need your consistent, passionate, powerful prayers.
That’s what he needs from you today, tomorrow and for every day you call him son.

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I came to God with fashion sense

And clothes I bought at great expense

I knew the drill

All things down pat.

God said, I never wanted that.

I huddled with my life long friends.

Talk to strangers? That depends.

I loved the show from where I sat.

God said, I never wanted that.

I knew each song

I’ve heard them all

Each choral piece and worship call

I cringed when someone’s song fell flat

God said, I never wanted that.

My i-pod has a thousand songs

Of worship stars before the throngs.

On Sundays I step up to bat.

God says I never wanted that.

He says, I want your heart to sing

and worship as me as rightful king

To come with sacrificial praise

To honor me in all your days

To drop your mask and foolish pride

for they’re not the reasons that I died

I conquered death to make you whole

Your LOVE has been my greatest goal

To vow your love and make it true.

Your love is what I want from you.

I have a confession to make. Love really hurts these days. It all began when my 14 year old got MMA lessons for his birthday. Often I come through the door of the house and somewhere lurking in the shadows is a 140 pound guy with the body fat of a coat hanger who will bring me into submission.  This was fun when he didn’t know Brazilian Jujitsu.  There’s a lot I didn’t know about MMA.  It would have been great if he would have told me that “tap out” is a mercy command. I would have tapped out the moment I caught a glimpse of his swan dive from the top of the stairs to the top of my head as I came through the foyer of our home.

I’ve learned a few terms over the past few weeks including…

[pullquote1 align=”right” variation=”orange”]I know there will come a day when he won’t be hiding around the corner to see if he’s stronger than his father. The connections we make together over the next four years will impact his life and mine for eternity. [/pullquote1]

The Armbar: a joint lock that hyperextends the elbow. Note: It causes pain. Tap out, Dad.

The Anaconda Choke:  consists of trapping one of your opponents arms with an under-hook and clasping hands on the other side of his neck, squeezing his neck and arm together to cut off air supply Note: Anytime anaconda and choke are used in the same sentence, I don’t want to be involved.

The Heel Hook:  A hold which is applied on the heel and then fully accomplished by twisting the knee at the joint. (I am limping this morning.)

The Twister: Involves facing your opponent’s feet while in half guard, putting your hand on your opponents knee and creating space to spin your foe into submission. (I prefer the Milton Bradley game version.)

There’s a lot of stress for my 9^th grader and if being his personal crash test dummy creates a bond between us, I’m in. I will recover from his pinch grip ties, arm bars, over-hooks, and leg locks. Caleb is a guy and like most guys we are programmed for battle. I’m even more proud that he realizes that there’s a spiritual battle out there and in here.
There’s a formidable foe and he has a strategy for both of us. We’re ready. And together with God the ultimate tap out is certain!

My son is a church planter on Xbox.  I write this and yet I don’t even know what it means. Not exactly.  Evidently he’s built a church on a game map and then he invites gamers to come to the Bible Study on Xbox live.  All the members keep their game weapons outside the edifice Caleb somehow constructed in the Xbox universe. As a side note, I don’t think I’ve ever had to remind church members in the real world: “Hey church, we’ve got a business meeting this Wednesday Night.  Be sure to drop your heavy ammo, nuclear weapons, bananas, trip wires, rocket launchers, star blings, and power packs in the vestibule.

I overheard a little bit of a meeting.  (Please don’t tell him I was snooping. Let’s keep that between you and me.) It was amazing. I’d never seen him lead out in anything.  He’s quiet at church.  He fades into the background. But with an Xbox live account and a Message Bible, he’s a 21^st century church starter in the making.[pullquote1 quotes=”true” align=”right” variation=”orange”] There is not a family cookie-cutter. Every family member is different. Although it’s a no brainer I never really understood that until we had two kids. [/pullquote1]

What I’ve come to understand is that Caleb is on a different frequency and if I want to connect with him I need a bigger antennae. Period.  Each of my four sons transmits things in a way that is uniquely theirs. Darlene does too. There is not a family cookie-cutter. Every family member is different. Although it’s a no brainer I never really understood that until we had two kids.  When Jacob was born the first thing I said and held him on those first few moments of his life was, “He’s different!” Subconsciously I suppose I just thought I’d have another Isaac- but no! He even had a different smell. Not bad, just different. When Jacob was born I realized that I immediately had to upgrade my antennae.

Many times my antennae isn’t up! Don’t you just hate when the people you love most are telling you something and the last sentence ends with a question and you realized that she’s waiting for an answer and you weren’t even listening to the question? And we all struggle with listening.  The best listener in our family is Arthur. Arthur never interrupts. He accepts whatever you say. He’s un-shockable. He provides positive feedback and he never, EVER judges. I started asking myself, “What makes Arthur different from everyone else in the family?”  And then it came to me. He’s our golden retriever. In truth Arthur has really saved me a lot of money on counseling.

As humans though, we all have reception issues. We learn differently.  As Gary Chapman has taught for over 20 years, we love differently, and we worship differently. We all do life differently.  We were designed differently. These differences have the ability to make us an amazing family and to drive us absolutely, stark-raving, bananas.  I’ll never stop trying to upgrade my antennae, but a Bible study with people who have rocket launchers still gives me the willies.

As dads, we have the unique opportunity to reveal truth to our children.  We get the chance to tell them how life works.  These are conversations happen along the way. They are unforgettable, sometimes unpredictable and other times- just plain weird.  Here’s one example:

The context: Having just listened on CD to Dr. James Dobson explain the mechanics of sex while driving down the interstate.

Son:  So that’s what you and Mom did when you had us?

Me:  Yes.

Son:  So you did that four times?

Me:  Well, at least.

Son:  You mean you and Mom have done that more than four times?

Me:  Yes.

Son:  In our house?

Me:  Yes.  Yes, we did. But we’ve done it on vacations too.

Son:  REALLY?

Me:  Let me think.  Well, yes.

Son:  But not at Disney World.  Please don’t tell me you did that at Disney World.

Me: Actually… Let’s see…  (I’m beginning to get nervous in the presence of my ten year old. The father-son trip seemed to have taken on the feel of a congressional hearing) I mean… Um… Not at Magic Kingdom, for goodness sake, but at the resort when you were… um… with your grandparents.

Son:  I see you two kissing and hugging.  But that?  That is what you did?

Me: Yes. We did that.

Son:  But not anymore, right.

Me:  Actually we kind of do.

Son: Still?

My son’s face becomes pail.  His breathing labored.

Son:  Dad, stop the car.  I think I’m going to throw up.

This was a greater miscarriage of childhood than the truth about Santa and the baseball doping scandal. Perhaps it was a preemptive strike upon his naiveté, but the truth was there under the light of day. The toothpaste was out of the tube and there was no turning back.  His parents were having sex.  Lots of sex. Our son, Nathan, now in college, still remembers that long drive into the dawn of manhood.

It was the first of many conversations we have had about the hijinks of monogamous marital bliss and other gritty subjects every father must unpack with a son. We’ve talked about lots of other strange and wonderfully embarrassing subjects but I’ll never forget the pit-stop on I-40 when my innocent son threw up after getting the low down on his parents and their scandalous activities that brought him into the world.

I never understood the dog. I didn’t really like the him as much as others in this house but over a period of months, I became the object of worship. He picked me out and said, “He’s mine!” This weenie dog couldn’t wait for me to sit down. He hated it when I sat in a desk chair. He was more at peace when I sat on the couch so he can rest his head on my lap. He freaked when I left in the morning and he celebrated my arrival in the evening. He was the most emotionally needy, dependent creature I’ve ever met. He wouldn’t be ignored.

There were are days when I failed.  He just overlooked those things and accepted me as I am.  He could care less if I got a raise. He had no idea how many followers I have in the twitter sphere. As far as he’s concerned, he’s the only one who follows me.  EVERYWHERE.

My family is a lot smarter than the dog but they too offer almost as much grace as Frank our dachshund.  Kids are much more interested in my time than my accomplishments.

Frank is gone to whatever place dogs go.  (It’s not a theological question I spend a lot of time on.) But he mark his territory.  Some of those marks required lots of febreeze ™.

My kids have left their mark as well. There are holes in the wall from capture the flag during an extended power outage.  There are knick in the coffee table from late night history projects. There are tree that are recovering from the weight of Tarzan movie projects.  I’ll catch-up on all the repairs. Someday.  Maybe. But we all miss the memories of Frank, the Dad-worshiping canine. The one whose life was a mess during the days I was out of town. I think he somehow got what life was all about. Chasing squerils and fighting dogs four times his

Lord, I pray this insane prayer. Make me like Him. Keep me so focused on Your presence that I can’t stand being away from You. Lord I focus my eyes on You waiting, wagging and wondering when I’ll see Your face.