Richard Exley

The Alabaster Cross -- Chapter 1

2009-10-30T12:30:53-07:00

ISBN 0-97851-370-3
Copyright © 2006 by Richard Exley

Awaking early, after a fitful night in which I slept little, I make my way to the kitchen where I get the ancient percolator going. After pouring myself a mug of the steaming brew, I make my way to the porch overlooking the small backyard. It is not yet daylight, but to the east I can see the first hint of morning breaching the darkness. There is a chill in the air but I know it won’t last once the sun pushes its way into the sky. Here on the high plaines of northeastern Colorado the nights are cool but during July and August the heat returns with a vengence each day. Taking a sip of coffee, I position myself on the porch rail and contemplate my uncertain future.

Although my mother and I were not close, her death has left me more than a little disoriented. I telephoned her infrequently and almost never came to see her; still, knowing she was here seemed to give me roots. Having lost my father at an early age, I now feel totally alone. Of course there’s my sister Helen, but we have almost nothing in common. She’s married to a local minister and to my way of thinking is something of a religious fanatic, while I haven’t darkened a church door since I left home nearly ten years ago.

I am twenty-nine years old, and, although I would never admit it, my life is pretty much a mess. I dropped out of college after two years, and since then I have drifted from one dead-end job to another. Currently I’m a lineman for the power company, a good enough job as jobs go, but not something I want to do for the rest of my life. My divorce was final a few weeks ago, and I’m still reeling from the fallout. Thankfully there were no children, or things could have been worse.

My wife, or I should say ex-wife, said she loved me but she could no longer bear to watch me destroying myself. Protesting, I said, “I don’t drink or do drugs, at least nothing to excess. I go to work most days and come home when I am supposed to, so what are you talking about?”

“Bryan,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears, “I love you, but you are so full of anger and bitterness you can’t receive my love, and it’s killing me.”
I argued with her, professing not to know what she was talking about, but I knew all right. But knowing something and being able to do anything about it, or even wanting to do anything about it, are distinctly different things. Frustrated by my obstinacy she finally moved out and filed for divorce.

Thinking about it now, I realize I am tense with anger. Taking two or three deep breaths, I try to calm myself. Slowly my pulse rate returns to normal, and I find myself listening to the rumble of the big rigs out on the interstate at least a mile away. For a moment I envy their drivers’ solitude and their freedom, but I know it is only an illusion. Like the rest of us they have deadlines to meet, and, though they may be hundreds of miles from home, they pack their troubles with them, of that I am sure.

Taking a sip of coffee, I realize it has grown cold, so I dump it into the flower bed at the base of the porch and retrace my steps into the kitchen. Rinsing out my cup, I place it in the rack to drain, noticing, maybe for the first time, that Mom never owned a dishwasher. Reluctantly I admit that her life wasn’t easy; still, I cannot bring myself to feel much sympathy for her. Difficult though her life was, it was of her own making, at least in large part. She could have remarried. She didn’t have to try to raise my sister and me by herself.

Wandering through the modest house in which I grew up, I realize that I can recall only a few good memories. Mostly I remember my mother’s sadness. She tried to be brave for Helen and me, but her grief tainted everything. Birthdays and holidays were strained affairs in which our forced gaiety inevitably succumbed to the omnipresent shadow of my absent father. Although I was too young to fully understand what had happened, I knew it was something terrible, a tragedy of such magnitude that our family might never recover.

The first few months were the worst. Many a night I would awaken and hear Mom sobbing, a sound so sad I thought my heart would break. Sometimes I would slip from my bed and make my way on tiptoe, down the dark hallway, to sit on the floor before the closed door that shut her bedroom off from the rest of the house. One night, when her sobs seemed ceaseless, I dared to open her bedroom door, something that was strictly forbidden. When I did, so great was her grief that it seemed to suck me across the room and into her arms. For a moment she let her defenses down, and we clung to each other, mother and child, taking what comfort we could from one another.

Things might have been different if we could have built on to that moment, but too soon she reverted to her rigidity and sent me back to my room—an act so grievous to me that I have never been able to forgive her. In my more magnanimous moments I am almost able to believe she thought she was protecting me, but she was wrong. By trying to shield me from her grief she left me to grieve alone, a burden no child should have to bear.

Looking back, I think that was when my grief turned into anger. For years it was just a wordless knot in the pit of my stomach, a smoldering resentment I could neither deny nor explain. I knew it was related to the tragedy that had befallen our family, but I couldn’t explain how. My mother eventually worked through her grief, at least to some extent, but I have never been able to rid myself of this toxic rage. More than any other factor it defines who I am and charts my destiny, whatever that may be.

The ringing of the telephone jerks me from my troubling thoughts, and I hurry across the living room to answer it. Holding the phone on my shoulder, I manage a hello while fumbling through my pockets for my watch. It’s my sister, and her condescending tone immediately grates on my already frayed nerves.

“Bryan, I just wanted to check in with you and see if there is anything we can do.” When I don’t respond, she continues. “Would you like for us to come by and pick you up on our way to the church? It’s no trouble.”

Forcing myself not to react, I reply, “Thank you, but I prefer to drive my own vehicle.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure.”

“And Bryan, please don’t be late.”

Although I have a lifelong history of tardiness, I resent being mothered by her. Refusing to dignify her request with a response, I allow a sullen silence to hang between us. “One other thing,” she ventures at last. “If you don’t have anything to wear to the funeral, Rob would be more than happy to loan you a suit, or if you prefer, a sport coat.”

“Helen,” I reply, making no attempt to disguise my anger, “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself so stop mothering me!”

Slamming down the phone, I pace the cramped living room as my anger subsides. At first glance her concern seems genuine, but I know better. What concerns her is not my well-being, but the family image. Rob is the senior pastor of a prestigious church, and she is afraid I will embarrass them in front of their congregation.

(Watch for Chapter 2. I will post it next Friday.)

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The Alabaster Cross

2009-10-22T18:09:59-07:00

Prologue

Amazon Basin 1970

I watch as the old Indian makes his way across the open area toward me. He is naked except for a loincloth that is held in place by a leather string around his waist. A lifetime of exposure to the sun has made his dark skin coarse and left his face a web of wrinkles. In his hands he carries a stained canvas satchel. The careful way in which he handles it makes me know that it is valuable to him.

As he approaches I stand to my feet. He stops before me and speaks solemnly in a language I do not understand. The first thing I notice is the dark stains on the canvas, and then my eyes are drawn to a leather patch that is stitched to the flap between the buckles. Although the leather is old and stained, there is no mistaking the initials carved into it.

In an instant, I am taken back to a night more than twenty years ago. It is raining, and the drumming of the rain on the corrugated tin roof of the mission house is all too familiar. The rainy season is just beginning, and the thought of being trapped inside for weeks on end is nearly more than I can bear. My sister Helen, who is four years older than I am, is reading a book by the light of a kerosene lamp. Unlike me, she is an easygoing child. Nothing seems to bother her.

I am more like my father, who is intense and sometimes impatient. As far as he is concerned, life is serious business and must be lived with due sobriety. He comes from Puritan stock, and the generations that have separated him from his ancestors have done nothing to dilute their genes. Tonight he is muttering under his breath as he hastily stuffs supplies into packs for his trip into the interior. Already there are two large bundles beside the front door, and a third one is nearly finished.

The table is covered with supplies—rice, beans, coffee, smoked meat, bandages, medicine, and other medical supplies. My mother is helping him pack by checking things off of a long list as he stows them away. On more than one occasion, this careful attention to detail has meant the difference between life and death. In the jungles of the Amazon Basin a person seldom gets a second chance.

Although Father likes to pretend that these forays into the interior are routine, they are not. Danger lurks everywhere. Travel is treacherous, especially during the rainy season. In addition, there is the ever-present threat of accident or illness, not to mention the hostility of the Amuacas.

So why does he insist on going? Why does he risk leaving his wife a widow and his children without a father? There are at least two reasons for every trip. One is foundational, and it never changes. My father is nearly consumed with a desire to take the gospel to those who have never heard. As far as he is concerned, no risk is too great if he can but preach where no one has ever preached. The other reason varies with each trip, but it nearly always involves some kind of emergency.

Tomorrow’s trip was occasioned when an Amuaca Indian stumbled into the mission compound more dead than alive. Using a combination of Portuguese and Indian dialects our indigenous workers were able to determine that his village had been stricken with a killing plague. Knowing that penicillin often opens the door for the preaching of the gospel, my father immediately began making preparations.

I listen as he carefully outlines the route he intends to take. It makes little sense to me, but my mother seems to understand. She is very supportive, but even I can tell that she is more than a little concerned.

According to my father, the stricken village is located four or five days upriver in an area previously unreached by any missionary. In response to my mother’s concern he acknowledges that the trip will be grueling. Battling against the current of a rain-swollen river will be exhausting and make for slow going, not to mention the very real possibility of a flash flood now that the rainy season has set in. Still, it is the only way. Trying to go through the jungle on foot would be impossible.

Having carefully closed the third pack, my father sets it beside the other two near the front door. Putting on his spectacles, he draws the kerosene lamp close and reaches for his Bible. Without being asked, we all cease what we are doing and give him our attention. Following a prepared reading schedule, he turns to today’s passage, Isaiah 43:1-3, and reads aloud:

But now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour.

Although I am only seven years old and find much of the Bible hard to understand, even I cannot miss the significance of this passage given the present circumstances. Tears are glistening in my mother’s eyes, and even my father looks pleased. Taking her hand, he says, “The Lord has spoken to us through His Word. No matter what dangers I may face, he will see me safely through.”

After a brief prayer he bids my sister and me goodnight and sends us to bed. For some reason I cannot sleep, so I slip out of bed and make my way to the doorway that opens on the kitchen. A flimsy curtain serves as a door, and I pull it back the tiniest bit in order to peer out. My mother sits in a chair, her face in the shadows cast by the lamp. My father is moving about, gathering a few personal items for his trip. As I watch, I see him wrap his Bible and a leather-bound journal in an oilcloth and place them in his canvas satchel. Carefully he buckles the flap closed before reaching for my mother’s hand …

How Does a Pastor Become an Embezzler?

2009-10-08T08:45:49-07:00

“The root cause of virtually all spiritual failure is disobedience in the little things.”

Corruption is as old as the human race and none of us is immune. If we do not guard our hearts at all times and practice absolute integrity in all things, even the smallest matters, we risk falling prey. One of the most heartbreaking examples of a good man who fell into corruption involves a former staff member of a Bible Church in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. He went to jail for embezzling almost $42,000 from the church over a six-year period. When I first learned of his crime I remember thinking, How could a minister do such a thing?

I was tempted to conclude that he was an aberration, an impostor, an evil man masquerading as a minister. Such a conclusion made his sinful dishonest easier to explain and it made it less likely that I might be capable of the same thing or something similar. Unfortunately it doesn’t fit the facts.

More likely he was a sincere man. No better and no worse than the rest of us. Somewhere along the way he took a wrong turn. Probably it seemed insignificant at the time. Perhaps he padded his expense account or hedged on his income tax return. Or maybe he was short of cash and “borrowed” from church funds until payday. He intended to pay it back, but somehow he never got around to doing it. After a while it was easier just to pretend it had never happened.

Had Satan tempted him to steal $42,000 in one lump sum it is not likely that he would have succumbed. Undoubtedly he considered himself an honest man, and there would have been no way he could reconcile a theft of that magnitude with his image of himself. Therefore Satan tempted him with “insignificant” amounts – twenty dollars here, fifty dollars there. And most likely he convinced himself that it was just a loan; he would pay it back.

It is safe, I am sure, to say that he did not plan to embezzle from his church. After all, if a man plans to misappropriate funds there are plenty of places more lucrative than a country church. Undoubtedly he backed into it one small compromise at a time. Somewhere along the line he opened his heart to the enemy, and before he knew it he was in over his dead. At the time of his resignation he told the congregation, “The depth of the deception is so ingrained, I do not know the scope of the amount of my stealing. I am dependent upon the elders and their audit to know the scope of my sin.”

In reality this is not about that minister but about us. The man or woman who wishes to live with integrity will learn from the mistakes of others. They will take those painful lessons and apply them to their own lives. That being the case let me ask you some hard questions. “Is there any area of your life where you have allowed ‘insignificant’ decisions to compromise your spiritual and/or moral integrity?” “Is there any relationship or behavior, no matter how ‘insignificant’ where you are compromising your spiritual and/or moral integrity?” “What are you going to do the rectify those areas where you have compromised?”

You may be tempted to excuse yourself. Don’t. Not even if you’ve been able to appease your conscience. When it comes to discerning right from wrong, we cannot trust our conscience as the final authority. It is too subjective, too easily influenced by our thoughts and feelings. Our only defense against the lies of the deceiver is the truth of God’s Word. Nothing else will sustain us in the hour of temptation.

“But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people…For of this you can be sure: No immoral, impure or greedy person – such a man is an idolater – has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of such things God’s wrath comes on those who are disobedient. Therefore do not be partners with them” (Eph. 5:3, 5-7).

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

Richard Exley Ministry

PO Box 54744

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155

(479) 789-5371

www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Check out Richard Exley’s pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Dont Ever Fall In Love With the Deal

2009-09-11T18:44:18-07:00

“The ever-expanding Federal Government feels like an abusive husband to me and the worst thing about it is that we did it to ourselves – we fell in love with the deal.”

While watching President Obama’s speech on health care reform to the joint houses of Congress on Wednesday evening, I couldn’t help remembering something my friend Jack used to tell me. He was an astute businessman who almost never made a bad deal. Once, while having lunch, I asked him the secret of his success. With a slow smile, he raised his finger and pointed toward the ceiling. When I pressed him for something more definitive than divine help he said, “Never fall in love with the deal.”

“A deal,” he said, “is like a beautiful woman. Once you fall in love with her you lose all objectivity. Passion takes over, distorting your judgment. Now all you can see are the benefits. You maximize the upside while minimizing or ignoring the downside. You turn a blind eye to the risks.”

I suspect this is what happened in the last election, not that we had much of a choice. Barack Obama swept the starry-eyed idealists off their feet. They fell in love with the deal and denigrated anyone who dared to suggest that their idealized version of reality might be tainted by passion. Never mind that Obama’s resume’ was terribly thin and that his campaign rhetoric was heavy on style but short on substance. He was charismatic, he promised to change America and he was saying the things many people wanted to hear. Toss in an unprecedented economic crisis, a less than inspiring opponent, a biased media, and it is easy to see why so many Americans fell in love with the deal.

So where are we now?

Not a few of us are disillusioned. Not just with the President but with the whole rotten mess in Washington. We realize something has gone terrible wrong and that it’s been going on for a long time. Republicans and Democrats alike share the blame. Instead of serving our country they have been serving themselves. There are individual exceptions to be sure, but they are few and far between.

Our only hope is to return to the principles that made American the greatest nation in the history of the world – faith, family, individual freedom and personal responsibility. The founding fathers designed our republic to be governed by short-term public servants not professional politicians who make a career out of politics. I see no way out of the current morass of corruption and special interests apart from term limits. It is the only way to break the stranglehold politicians have on our nation. I would suggest one term for United States Senators and two terms for Representatives. In addition we must rescind the “special perks” our elected officials have voted for themselves. There can be no real reform without it. For instance, their health insurance and retirement benefits should be no different than what is provided for the average American. Let them live with what they have provided for the rest of us.

It has been said that power corrupts and that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Whether we are talking about the White House, Congress, Wall Street, big business, or the unions, whoever has the power abuses it. In the case of our elected officials I see a tragic trend. They begin by accepting the perks that come with their office, then they expect them, then they demand them and finally they abuse them. Term limits is just one way of protecting politicians from themselves and protecting our Republic from their abuse of the public trust.

I can only imagine how an abused wife must feel. The man she fell in love with turned out to be an illusion. During courtship he was charming, attentive to her every need but once they were married he revealed his true character. Oh he can still be charming, especially in public, but underneath he is controlling and manipulative. And what shames her the most is that she did this to herself.

The ever-expanding Federal Government feels like an abusive husband to me and the worst thing about it is that we did it to ourselves – we fell in love with the deal.

As bad as things appear, it may be God’s answer to our prayers. Things may have to get so bad that we have no other hope before American will return to God. Remember the resurgence of spiritual passion following the terrorist attacks of 9/11. It was short lived because things returned to “normal” fairly quickly but it might have taken root if the fearful uncertainty that characterized the days immediately after the attack had continued indefinitely. I’m not praying for hard times but that may be what it takes to bring our nation back to God.

“If my people who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14).

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

Check out Richard Exley’s pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Richard Exley Ministry

PO Box 54744

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155

(479) 789-5371

www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Does Steel Float?

2009-09-02T14:01:54-07:00

“For those who refuse to give up, who dare to see with both eyes, there’s something beyond the darkness, something beyond the pain and brokenness of our shattered world.”

Most people can overcome any adversity if they can be assured of three things. First, they must know that God cares. Then they must be convinced that He won’t forsake them. Finally, they have to know that God will redeem their situation. As rational creatures, the thought that a tragic accident or some other life-altering event might be pointless is simply unbearable. But if we are convinced that God will ultimately bring good out of what looks for all the world like a senseless tragedy, we can somehow bear it.

Do you remember the time Jesus and His disciples got caught in a terrible storm? Mark records it: “A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, ‘Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?’” (Mark 4:37,38).

“Don’t you care?”

That’s the question that haunts us when our secure world is suddenly shattered. We want to know if God cares.

I’m thinking of a young couple who spent two years on the mission field. While there, their second child was stillborn. It was a devastating blow. They were thousands of miles from family and friends, laying their lives on the line for the sake of the kingdom, doing exactly what God had called them to do, so why did their baby die? How many times, I wonder, did they cry, “Lord, don’t You care?”

Theirs is an extreme case, I’ll grant you, but it is not nearly as isolated as you might think. After more than forty years in the ministry, I’ve come to realize just how many people live with unspeakable sorrow, how many people suffer in silence and hide their hurt behind a public smile. Over and over they have pled with me for an answer. “Does God care?” they ask, or, “Why doesn’t God do something?”

It’s not really answers we seek, but assurance. Anyway the real question isn’t so much “Why?” but “Does God know, does He care?” And in response, all I can do is point to the cross. There He is – God’s Son – bleeding and dying because He cares!

Once we know God cares, then we need to be assured that He is with us. The sense of God’s nearness is what has kept my sister going. When she is tempted to despair, to give up the fight, she strengthens herself by focusing on the Lord’s nearness. I’ve prayed with her nearly every day. We pray for a miracle of healing. We pray for strength to get through all the chemotherapy treatments. We pray for God to redeem this tragedy, to bring good out of this terrible ordeal. All of this is meaningful to her but what quiets her spirit and strengthens her heart is when I pray for God to be nearer to her than the breath she breaths, closer than life itself. As long as she can sense His near presence she can face her uncertain future with courage.
Like so many others who have endured unspeakable hardship, Sherry can’t bear the thought that her suffering might be pointless. If she has to endure the ravages of chemotherapy and surgery, while looking the possibility of a premature death in the eye, she wants to be assured that her suffering won’t be wasted. She clings tightly to Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Unfortunately, the good God is working through our suffering is often nearly impossible to see in this life. Still, that doesn’t mean that God is not at work.

I’m thinking of a pastor whose only son committed suicide. One Lord’s day he entered the pulpit and announced his text. Visibly struggling he read Romans 8:28. Holding up his Bible he said, “I cannot make my son’s suicide fit into this verse. It’s impossible for me to see how anything good can come out of it. And yet this verse supports me somehow, it enables me to go on living even though life doesn’t seem to make any sense.

“It’s like the mystery, the miracle, of the shipyard. Almost every part of our great ocean-going vessels is made of steel and if you take any single part, be it a steel plate out of the hull or the huge steel rudder, and throw it into the ocean it will sink. Steel doesn’t float! But when the shipbuilders are finished, when the last steel plate has been riveted into place then that massive steel ship will float. Steel doesn’t ordinarily float but when the ship builders are finished it does!

“Taken by itself my son’s suicide “won’t float.” Throw it into the ocean of Romans 8:28 and it sinks. But when the divine shipbuilder is finally finished, when God has worked out His perfect design, even this senseless tragedy will float!”

When you look around what do you see? Do you see shattered dreams, a failed business, family problems and an impending divorce? That’s all there plus a whole lot more. No one can deny that but if that’s all you see you’re only seeing with one eye. If you open both eyes you will not only see what is – the tragedies of life – but what can be. If you look with the eye of faith you will see joy where you were sure there was no joy to be found and possibilities where you were sure none existed. You might even see a miracle in the making for with God nothing is impossible (Lu. 1:37).

When you’re in Gethsemane the situation can look hopeless. No matter how desperately you pray things never seem to get any better. Worst of all it feels like God has forsaken you. The sense of His nearness that once sustained you seems to have vanished. You are left to wander alone in the darkness, stumbling over the wreckage of your world, or so it seems. But you are only seeing with one eye. For those who refuse to give up, who dare to see with both eyes, there’s something beyond the darkness, something beyond the pain and brokenness of our shattered world. Whether God saves us from our “Gethsemane” or allows us to walk the “Via Dolorosa” (literally the sorrowful way) our ultimate deliverance is assured. “‘…He who believes in me,’” Jesus said, “‘will live, even though he dies;’” (John 11:25).

Sometimes the future triumph is just around the corner. A young woman is instantly healed of an incurable bone disease, another woman receives a regenerative miracle when her dead thyroid is fully restored, a six-year-old boy is healed of cancer, a pastor’s blocked arteries are instantly opened making heart surgery unnecessary. Financial provision too – a struggling author receives several paying projects after praying for provision. A small congregation receives a one-time gift of $429,444.79 enabling them to finally move out of rented facilities where they have been holding services for ten years!

Sometimes it is a long way off, maybe even in the next life, but knowing it’s coming gives us the strength to live with joy no matter how difficult this present life. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor. 4:16-18).

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

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Check out Richard Exley’s pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Richard Exley Ministry

PO Box 54744

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155

(479) 789-5371

www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Three Cups of Tea

2009-07-31T07:58:49-07:00

Few things in life are more important than deep sharing with good friends. That kind of talking nourishes the soul and reaffirms our place in the world.

As I prepare to write today’s blog three or four memories juxtapose themselves in my mind. In the first I am just a boy ten or eleven years old. It is a Sunday afternoon and we have just arrived home from church. Although I waste no time shedding my church clothes for tennis shoes and blue jeans, our company arrives before I can finish. They have come to share Sunday dinner with us. The guests vary from week to week but we almost never eat Sunday dinner alone. We might scrimp all week, as Mom used to say, but on Sunday we had a feast – huge platters piled high with fried chicken, heaping bowls of mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables from the garden, homemade hot rolls, and gallons of lemonade. For dessert there was always a variety of cakes and pies from which to choose.

When we couldn’t possible eat another bite, us kids disappeared outdoors, while the adults lingered around the table talking for an hour or two. That’s all they did – just talked. It seemed like such a waste to me then. Now, I know better. Few things in life are more important than deep sharing with good friends. That kind of talking nourishes the soul and reaffirms our place in the world.

A second memory now superimposes itself upon the first and I listen as our adult daughter bemoans the fact that no one entertains at home anymore. She and her husband tried it a couple of times, hosting small dinner parties in their home, but when several guests canceled at the last minute and no one returned their invitation they were forced to conclude that dinner parties are a thing of the past. “No one has time to be friends any more,” Leah says wistfully, “not with everything they have going on in their lives. Oh, I know my generation is into social networking – facebook and twitter and all that – but sending emails and instant messages isn’t the same as sharing Sunday dinner!”

Now a third memory pushes its way to the forefront of my mind. I am in the sanctuary of Dominion Church where my sister and her family worship. My mother’s funeral is nearly over and the mourners are passing by her casket for the final viewing. As they file past almost every one stops to console my sister, many of them weep with her, holding her close and I can’t help thinking how precious friends are in the hour of our loss. I am thankful for the support Sherry receives but my heart aches for my two brothers and me. Each of us is hundreds of miles from home and the friends who would have comforted us have not been able to attend.

Even if Mom’s funeral had been in my home church Brenda and I wouldn’t have received the kind of support Sherry did. That kind of support grows out of relationship and we simply do not have those kinds of relationship with our church family. Although we have been part of the Church on the Hill in Berryville, Arkansas for the past fifteen years, we are not truly an integral part of that congregation. Pastor Butler, a dear friend and a wonderful pastor, lovingly refers to us as his most unfaithful members because we spend most weekends on the road ministering in other churches. We are deeply loved by the congregation and they receive us with open arms each time we are able to worship with them, yet we are more like distant cousins than intimate family members. No one is to blame that’s just the way things are. Still, I hunger for the kind of relationship my sister has with her church family.

In his book, “Three Cups of Tea” Greg Mortenson relates a life changing experience he had while building schools in the remote areas of Pakistan. With the feverish impatience that Americans are known for the world over, he had pushed the Baltis to finish the school before winter. Although they loved his generosity, his hard driving manner was threatening to alienate the very people he most cared about. Finally, Haji Ali the presiding elder took him aside and over bowls of scalding butter tea he said, “If you want to thrive in Baltistan, you must respect our ways. The first time you share tea with a Balti, you are a stranger. The second time you take tea, you are an honored guest. The third time you share a cup of tea, you become family, and for our family, we are prepared to do anything, even die.” Laying his hand warmly on Mortenson’s own, he continued, “Doctor Greg, you must make time to share three cups of tea. We may be uneducated. But we are not stupid. We have lived and survived here for a long time.”

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the time to build relationships is before tragedy strikes. Invite friends over for Sunday dinner or a cookout in the back yard. Open your home and your heart. Don’t wait for someone else to take the lead; you do it. And no matter how hectic your life becomes always make time to share three cups of tea.

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

What to Do When Your World is Falling Apart

2009-07-18T09:37:54-07:00

Your crisis may not come as a devastating medical diagnosis, but given time you will face things that will rock your world. So what can you do when your world is crashing down around you?

Although medical science has made significant advances in recent years, a diagnosis of cancer still has the power to overwhelm. Let the doctor’s diagnosis include “stage three,” and the level of fear ratchets up yet again. And should the prognosis include a life expectancy of less than two years the effect can be absolutely devastating. That’s what someone very close to me is facing as I write today’s blog. In two weeks time, her world has gone from safe and secure to one of fearful uncertainty and confusion. Needless to say my heart goes out to her and her family.

So where do they go from here? What do they do now? Of course, they’re going to get the best medical advice available before deciding on a course of treatment, but beyond that what can they do? For that matter, what can any of us do when our world is falling apart?

If you haven’t been there you will be. No one goes through this life unscathed. Your crisis may not come as a devastating medical diagnosis, but given time you will face things that will rock your world. So what can you do when your world is crashing down around you?

Ask for help. That’s what Jesus did. “He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.’” (Mt. 26:37-38).

There was nothing Peter, James or John could do to change the situation; still Jesus wanted them with Him. He understood the value of their presence, He knew their nearness would sustain Him in a way nothing else could. No one could drink that dreadful cup for Him, but having their spiritual support and physical presence would give Him the strength to do what had to be done.

When your world is falling apart there is usually not much your friends can do to put it back together. Nonetheless, the emotional support of those you know and trust can be enormously valuable. And their prayers can be a source of great comfort, enabling you to bear things you never imagined yourself capable of bearing, so ask for their help.

Go to Father God. Throw yourself on His mercy. Trust Him with your situation. That’s what Jesus did. “Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, ‘My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me’” (Mt. 26:39).

When your world is crumbling around you, run to the Father and throw yourself into His arms. Let Him hold you and comfort you. Meditate on what it means for Him to be your Father. That truth has often given me special comfort, especially during the hard times. Being a father myself I know the feelings a father has for his children. Nothing pains me more than seeing my daughter suffer, nor does anything bless me more than her happiness. Whatever touches her touches me. If I, a mere mortal, have these kinds of feelings for my daughter then I can only imagine how much more Father God cares for us, His children. “As a father pities his children,” said the Psalmist, “So the Lord pities those who fear Him” (Ps. 103:13).

I am especially sensitive to this truth at the moment because my daughter is struggling with several health issues and she has been for several years. No matter what I am doing, Leah’s situation is never far from my mind. When I lie in bed at night awaiting sleep, my mind is searching for solutions. My first thought upon waking in the morning is a prayer for her. When I pray, her needs take precedence over almost everything else. I am her father, and I am touched by the feelings of her infirmities. What hurts her hurts me. Her pain is my pain.

Is not my concern for Leah but a dim reflection of Father God’s concern for us? Jesus said it like this, “If you then, being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!” (Mt. 7:11).

Choose to trust the Father’s heart. That’s what Jesus did. Even though everything within Him was repulsed by that foul cup and all it portended He still trusted. And He prayed, “…‘Yet not as I will, but as you will’” (Mt. 26:39).

Trusting God is easy when everything is going well, but let your world come crashing down and the enemy will tempt you to rail at God. When my grandson was just a little guy he was always crashing into things and hurting himself. But instead of running to us for comfort, he would run away. And if we tried to comfort him, he would strike out at us screaming, “Don’t touch me. Leave me alone!”

Although we were not in any way responsible for his pain, he blamed us. I cannot help thinking how like him we are. Let life deal us a crushing blow and we are quick to blame God. We are tempted to question His goodness and to rail at Him for the “injustices” we are suffering.

You have a choice. You can respond like my grandson responded to us when he was hurt or you can respond like Jesus did in Gethsemane. You can push God away or you can cling to Him, putting your trust in Him and Him alone. Of course that does not mean you do not pray for a miracle but your hope must be in God and God alone.

Continue to trust Father God even when your circumstances don’t appear to be changing. That’s what Jesus did. “…and (Jesus) prayed the third time, saying ‘My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away except I drink it, may your will be done’” (Mt. 26:44).

Ultimately, Jesus suffered unspeakably and died an excruciating death; still He refused to doubt the Father’s trustworthiness. Even when it seemed Father God had abandoned Him, (Mt. 27:46) Jesus continued to trust Him. And as He was dying, “Jesus called out with a loud voice, ‘Father, into your hands I commit my spirit’” (Luke 23:46).

Things looked bleak as Jesus’ friends took his mutilated body down from the cross and prepared it for burial. Saturday was gloomy, things looked hopeless, but that wasn’t the end of the story. Sunday was coming! And on Sunday Father God turned the tragedy of the cross into the glory of the resurrection. Suddenly it all made sense!

I don’t know how God is going to turn your situation around, or how He is going to bring glory out of the tragedy you are living, but I am confident He will! And until His deliverance manifests itself we have the promise of His presence to sustain us – “I will never leave you or forsake you.” We have His miracles and supernatural healings to encourage us. No matter how grim our situation, or how hopeless it appears, we know that nothing is impossible for Him. God can turn it around! And ultimately, we have the promise of eternal life. “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies…’” (Jn.11:25).

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

If you appreciated today’s blog please email it to a friend.

Check out Richard Exley’s latest pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Richard Exley Ministry

PO Box 54344

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155

(479) 789-2985

www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Am I the Only One Who Hates Change?

2009-06-29T06:18:45-07:00

If I try to hang onto the past, to the old way of doing ministry, I will be left behind, yet that’s exactly what I’m tempted to do. Are there risks inherent in change? Absolutely, but the risks of looking back and trying to recreate the past are even greater.

I sometimes wonder what happened to the man I used to be. Friends and colleagues once described me as a man ahead of his time. Now I feel like a dinosaur. I don’t know if life is going faster and faster or if I’m just slowing down. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not throwing in the towel. In fact, I’m running as fast as I can. I’ve even managed to get a web site replete with pod casts and blogs. I’m on facebook and twitter, but every time I learn something new it’s already dated!

I’m tempted to think that I hate change simply because I’m getting older, but then I look back over my life and realize that change has always been hard. In 1980, I moved my family from Craig, Colorado to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to become pastor of Christian Chapel. Although there were a number of challenges I was excited. As far as I was concerned it was the chance of a lifetime and yet our early months in Tulsa were characterized by a profound sense of loss.

Twelve years later we would relive the cycle all over again. This time I left the security of Christian Chapel to give myself to a ministry of writing and speaking. We built a cabin on the side of a mountain overlooking Beaver Lake in Northwest Arkansas and I started writing. After twenty-five years in the pastorate the solitude was exhilarating. Brenda and I took long walks in the woods, played table games by kerosene lamp light in the evenings, and enjoyed the warmth of the pot bellied stove on cold winter mornings. Nevertheless I could not escape a persistent sense of loss and when I thought of Christian Chapel my throat got tight.

Only later did I learn that every major change in life is first experienced as loss followed by a period of grief, even anger. Never would I have thought that a promotion and a cross-country move had anything in common with a divorce, unemployment, or even a death, but they do. Each one is a major change and is accompanied by a change in status, separation from friends and/or associates, and a period of grief. How long that grief last depends on how a person handles it. Repress it, and it will be around for a long time. Deal with it honestly, and you can speed up your adjustment and/or recovery and get on with your life.

Additionally change often requires us to face new challenges and learn new skills with the accompanying risks. I’m right there and you may be also. The way the church functions is radically changing to meet the varied and complex demands of people living in the twenty-first century. If I try to hang onto the past, to the old way of doing ministry, I will be left behind, yet that’s exactly what I’m tempted to do. Are there risks inherent in change? Absolutely, but the risks of looking back and trying to recreate the past are even greater.

Dr. Paul Tournier tells of an experience he had while staying with a friend. Each morning they would read the Bible together. On the last day of his visit they read the story of Lot’s wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt because she looked back (Genesis 19:26). Then his friend exclaimed, “I’m like Lot’s wife. My life is petrified because I keep looking back. My life is no longer an adventure, because my faith is shaken and I am not looking for God’s guidance any more.” After a brief pause he continued, “I want to start going forward again.”

Maybe you’ve been like Tournier’s friend, maybe your life has been on hold because you’ve been looking back instead of casting vision for the future. Perhaps fear is what’s been holding you back – fear of failure or even just fear of the unknown. If my experience is any indication, fear is a part of any and every undertaking, but we don’t have to let it paralyze us. We can allow fear to imprison us or we can use it to motivate us. The choice is ours!

A friend bought his young son a bunk bed and as the boy’s bedtime drew near his little body fairly vibrated he was so excited. Eagerly he started up the latter, but about two-thirds of the way up he stopped. Looking at his father he said, “Daddy, I’m afraid.”

His father tried to tell him that there was no reason to be afraid, but nothing he said calmed the boy’s fears. Finally he said, “Son, if you’re afraid you don’t have to sleep on the top bunk. You can sleep on the bottom bunk.”

The little fellow thought about it and then taking a deep breath he scurried up the ladder as fast as he could, hopped into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Turning to his father he said, “I’m still afraid, but I’m more excited than afraid!”

That’s the way I’ve determined to live life with its myriad changes – more excited than afraid!

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

Check out Richard Exley’s pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Richard Exley Ministry
PO Box 54744
Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155
(479) 789-5371
www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Missed Opportunities

2009-06-16T13:16:38-07:00

Like some of you, I have now reached that point in life when it is not unusual for yet another friend, or family member, to depart this life. The past four years have been especially difficult for Brenda and me, as we have lost both her father and mine, as well as my mother, and a special friend. Still, I was shocked when I received a telephone call informing me that Larry Dalton had died suddenly.

He was barely sixty-three years old and appeared to be the picture of health. We had reconnected in February, at Christian Chapel’s 35th anniversary. As we chatted, he informed me that he was leaving Nashville and moving back to Tulsa. I complimented him on the Christmas music he had done for Reader’s Digest and told him the Christmas concerts he had performed at Christian Chapel were still the highlight of my Christmas memories.

The service was about to begin, so he excused himself and made his way toward the platform. As I watched him walk toward the piano, I couldn’t help marveling at his youthful appearance and fitness. He worked out regularly and was an avid bicyclist. Involuntarily, I found myself trying to suck in my sagging stomach, but to no avail.

I knew Larry was a musician of international renown, but I was not prepared for the outpouring of love and admiration that was expressed at his memorial service. It was unlike anything I had ever attended, and in my forty-three years of ministry I’ve taken part in an untold number of funeral services. Friends from all over the country packed the 1600 seat auditorium at the VanTrease Performing Arts Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The service featured a chorus made up of Tulsa church choirs, vocalists, and friends from around the country who were blessed to work with Larry throughout his career, as well as the Signature Symphony directed by Dr. Barry Epperly. All the music was arranged or composed by Larry Dalton.

Larry was a Steinway Piano Artist, concertizing in over 40 countries, as well as arranging for many popular artists, both secular and Christian. His repertoire included arrangements and compositions for gospel music, chamber orchestra, big band, and full symphonies. He recorded for Integrity Music, Pianodisc Music Systems, Reader’s Digest, and Ralph Carmichael’s Light Records.

Steve Alley, Larry’s life-long friend, shared tributes from such notable people as Oral Roberts, T.L. Osborn, Charles Green, and Ralph Carmichael. Several other friends shared personal stories about Larry, causing us to laugh and cry and give praise to God. As I listened to their outpouring of love, I realized that although Larry had ministered at Christian Chapel many times during my 12 year tenure as senior pastor, I had never really gotten to know him. Now it was too late and I had no one to blame but myself.

There were a number of reasons why I hadn’t made a special effort to get to know Larry better, but they seemed trite now. When he ministered at Christian Chapel he was always accompanied by a number of musicians and friends, and I had used that as an excuse. I didn’t want to intrude or so I told myself. Thinking about it now, I’m sure Larry would have been more than happy to share a cup of coffee or a meal with me, but I never bothered to ask. The truth is, I don’t even know if he drank coffee. We both led full lives but that’s no excuse. Larry always had time for his friends. I wish the same could be said for me.

Leaving the memorial service, I couldn’t help thinking of the opportunity I had missed. I may not have been able to contribute much to Larry’s life and ministry but he certainly would have enriched mine. I’m tempted to say, “If only I could relive those years things would be different,” but I don’t. “If only,” focuses on the past and I can’t change that. What’s done is done. Instead I say, “Next time.” Next time I will be more sensitive, more open, more embracing. Next time I’ll seize the moment and live it to the fullest.

As I look back over my life, I realize that I have missed a number of opportunities – opportunities to be forgiving, to speak a word of apology, to lend a helping hand, or to offer the gift of friendship. Some opportunities are gone forever. Others linger still, giving me another chance, a chance I am determined to make the most of. With God’s help I will not let a single expression of love go unspoken; I won’t leave a single act of kindness undone, a single friendship unpursued. I dare not for life is too fleeting and I may never get another chance.

You may not either, so seize the moment!

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

If you appreciated today’s blog please email it to a friend.

Check out the Straight from the Heart pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Richard Exley Ministry
PO Box 54744
Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155
(479) 789-5371
www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

The Beast Within

2009-06-02T10:53:53-07:00

“In our efforts to end the evils so rampant in our society, we must never give into the beast that is within each of us. One act of violence, one fit of temper, one moment of hate, and the beast is loose.”

It is an incredibly beautiful morning in Northwest Arkansas. The sky is nearly Colorado blue, the humidity relatively low with temperatures in the mid-seventies. Earlier this morning, I enjoyed a cup of coffee on the porch overlooking Beaver Lake, but in spite of the natural beauty of God’s creation my heart is heavy. This peaceful morning belies the reality of our world where violence begets violence and well meaning people risk becoming a monster in an attempt to destroy a monster. The thing that prompted my melancholy musings this time was the murder of late-term abortionist George Tiller. He was shot and killed on Sunday morning while serving as an usher at Reformation Lutheran Church in Wichita, Kansas.

The response from both sides has been predictable. Pro-life organizations decry it as a senseless act of violence without justification, while pro-choice groups, like the National Organization for Women are blaming the tragedy on the pro-life movement. NOW has labeled the murder an act of "politically-motivated domestic terrorism" and has called on the Departments of Justice and Homeland Security to put their full resources behind the effort to "root out and prosecute...the criminal enterprise that has organized and funded criminal acts for decades." It doesn’t take a prophet to see where this is leading.

Everything about this tragedy is grievous. I’m grieved that George Tiller was murdered and that his wife, children, and grandchildren must suffer this senseless tragedy. And his murder was so pointless. Killing him does nothing to end the tragedy of abortion; in fact it probably hardens the resolve of pro-choice groups and legislatures. Without a doubt it makes it more difficult for pro-life advocates.

I’m grieved that an active churchman like George Tiller could routinely perform late-term abortions. I’m grieved that he apparently saw nothing incongruous about professing Christ while making his living as a late-term abortionist. I’m grieved that the pastor and church where he attended did not hold him accountable for his actions. I’m grieved that we live in a society that calls evil good and good evil (see Isaiah 5:20).

I’m grieved that so many of us still do not get it. The woman seeking an abortion is not the enemy, nor is the abortion provider. Of course they must take responsibility for their actions, but in many ways they are victims. The true enemy is the unjust law that makes it legal to put the child in the womb to death; a law whose unintended consequences we are just beginning to reap. But changing the law is not enough. The only hope we have of ending abortion on demand is a spiritual awakening, for only the Spirit of God can transform our hearts and minds. Of course this does not mean that we shouldn’t do everything we can legally do to end abortion, but our hope must be in Jesus Christ and Him alone.

I’m grieved that the evil that lurked within George Tiller’s heart also lurks in mine. I’m tempted to take advantage of people, to use them to further my own ends, to sacrifice them on the altar of my ambition. Never is the heart more deceitful than when we justify our sinful actions by citing the evil done by others. Author Phillip Yancey relates an incident from World War II which illustrates this truth.

According to Yancey, a friend of his served in the Army during the closing days of the War and participated in the liberation of the infamous Dachau concentration camp. He told Yancey that the most shocking part of the whole experience was not the atrocities which the SS officers had perpetrated upon the helpless Jews, though such cruelty was beyond human imagination. The thing that stayed with him was what he discovered about himself.

The captain of the liberating forces asked for a volunteer to escort twelve SS prisoners to the interrogation center. The most volatile soldier in the unit, a man named Chuck, volunteered. Grabbing a submachine gun, he herded the captives down the trail where they soon disappeared into some trees in a shallow ravine. Shortly thereafter, a burst of machine gun fire shattered the afternoon stillness. Chuck came swaggering back and announced with a kind of fiendish leer, “They tried to escape.”

In that moment, Yancey’s friend experienced a nauseating fear that he might be called upon to escort the next group of SS guards to the interrogation center. The thing he feared most was that he too might give in to his unspeakable rage and gun down the guards as Chuck had done.

“The beast that was within those guards,” he said, “was also within me.”

While most of us will never be involved in the liberation of a Nazi death camp or tempted to gun down an abortionist, we must all contend with the beast that is within each of us. In our efforts to end the evils so rampant in our society, we must always guard our heart lest we give into that beast. One act of violence, one fit of temper, one moment of hate, and the beast is loose.

This is Richard Exley straight from the heart.

If you appreciated today’s blog please email it to a friend.

Check out the Straight from the Heart pod casts @ www.RichardExleyMinistries.org

Richard Exley Ministry
PO Box 54744
Tulsa, Oklahoma 74155
(479) 789-5371
www.RichardExleyMinistries.org