Bittersweet Farm
All that calls itself Christian is not. All that calls itself “Evangelical” is not the evangelical of history. Follow this link to a powerful, thought-provoking message by the late Vance Havner. The message was called; “Is This That?”
Among my treasured posessions is a near complete collection of the writing of Vance Havner. Years ago I stumbled across his books and they have inspired me to write.
I’ve been thinking about what C. S. Lewis called “Chronological Snobbery.” Chronological Snobbery is the arrogance of measuring every age against our own age. It is the foolish short-sightedness of thinking we are living in the best days of the church. The folly of chronological snobbery is erecting a false standard of Christian vitality and holiness and measuring ourselves against it. We are willing to settle for a thin-soup, weak-tea version of the Christian faith that is not vital enough to triumph over sin and the flesh. The breath of God is not on it. It may entertain or arouse the shallow curiosity of many with its style and but it does not result in holy living and holy dying.
We have aggressive distribution, clever marketing, professional entertainment, moving music, impressive buildings, radio networks, charismatic personalities, and celebrity endorsements. None of these are a substitute for the miraculous power of the Holy Spirit that can radically transform a sinner into a saint of God.
I once heard it said the revival is when the world moves toward the church and apostasy is when the church moves toward the world. Either way the world is in the church. In revival there is holiness in the pulpit and in the pew. In apostasy there is holiness neither in pulpit or the pew.
Our most popular books and preachers cast doubt on the great historic verities of the Christian faith and use the language of the bar room and the pool hall. When my grandfather got saved he was immediately set free from habits that harmed his body. He gave up his old way of talking. He had a new hunger to see other people’s lives changed.
Compare some of the most popular evangelical books with books like, “Hudson Taylor’s Spiritual Secret.” Think about the contemporary pulpit. It is often a place for pop-psychology, comedy routines, and motivational talks with bible verses added. Now– “Google” Spurgeon and just compare. Where is the appeal to the conscience of the sinner? Where is the great proclamation of the glory of the gospel.
Should we be satisfied with religious “business as usual” and settle for a version of Christianity that has little power to free men and women from bondage to sin? Should we really franchise a version of the church that is not pulling a new generation upward to God? Should we endorse a Christianity that cannot produce an army of devoted young men and women who are willing to live above the world? Should we not weep and mourn and grieve that Christianity as we know it in our day is not cementing marriages in life-long love relationships? Should we be proud of the fact that our churches cannot produce strong, stable families?
Were are the men of God, whose hearts are pure and whose lives are honorable? Where are the women of God, holy women who have rejected the lure of the world and devoted themselves to making their homes holy places that forge within them the very character of the nation. Where are the young men who are pure in thought and deed, noble and filled with virtue and courage and holy vision? Where are the young women who are pure in heart and body and hungry for God? Where are the young women who have turned their back on the world and its foolishness and distanced themselves from its shallow, sensual, godlessness? Where are the young ladies like Amy Carmichel, Gladys Alward, Ann Judson, and Sarah Edwards?
May God deliver us from the foolishness of measuring our faith without taking into account what He is doing in other parts of the world and what He has done in other times.
Ken Pierpont
Brook Place
Hinsdale, Illinois
November 6, 2006
This fall I was asked to speak at a retreat in the beautiful Northwoods. Among the guests at the retreat was a well-known Christian author, Gary Smalley. I was thrilled to be able to speak to him personally for the first time. His book, The Key to Your Child’s Heart, as been a favorite of mine for over twenty years. Over and over again I have thought of the message of that book when I was tempted to me irritable or short or angry with the children. It was a happy experience for me to be able to shake his hand and tell him how much his book had been a help to our family.
One afternoon Gary was persuaded to treat us with a talk. Gary’s talk was about the heart. He began by telling of his near-death experience while on a hunting trip. He had a serious heart attack and thought he would die before he was able to get out for medical attention. He said that he had a perfect calm in his soul about going to be with the Lord. Gary has a wonderful sense of humor. When he thought he was dying he said;
“Lying there on the ground I really thought I was going to die. I just looked up into the sky and said; ‘see you in a minute, Lord.'”
Obviously, Gary lived to tell about it. My hope for each of you who read this is that you would have the confidence of David who said; “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”
Last week Michael Powers published an autumn story I authored, called “Harvest Moon.” It was published in the Chicken Soup for the Soul series a few years ago. When Ray Reiman read it he began to reminisce and sent me a delightful note. As you can tell Ray does some writing, too and has something to say from his rich life.
LETTER FROM RAY RIEMEN:
Hi Ken!
Great “Heart Touchers” story about your granddad harvesting corn! He was much like my dad–a hard working, very honest farmer who died some years ago at age 89. Dad also was a fantastic corn “picker” by hand – not necessarily before one-row pickers were used but before he had money to buy such a fancy machine.
Even though Dad was much older than we high school sons on our Northwest Iowa farm, he could outpick any two of us! And he did! As my oldest brother and I were picking corn at one wagon behind him, we had a heck of a time keeping up with him!
Of course, our wagons were each “powered” by a team of horses that we harnessed in the dark (after first feeding the hogs, milking the cows and eating breakfast!) and drove to the field before daylight. I remember having to first “find” the ears of corn in the darkness to pitch into the wagon.
After each filling our wagons by throwing the ears against the “bang boards” by noon, we’d head home to unload the corn at the elevator at the corn crib, feed the horses, eat a quick lunch (“dinner” in those days), and head back to the field to start the whole business once again.
By the time it got too dark to pick any more, we’d drive back home to unload the corn into the corn crib, unharness and feed the horses, cattle and hogs, eat supper, drag our tired bodies into bed for a night’s sleep to start all over again before daylight the next day!!!
Oh, by the way, when we were younger, this all started with a two-week “vacation” (yeah, right!) from GRADE school that was declared every fall so that we kids could help pick corn!!!
Then, as we got into high school and beyond, Dad would let us use his horses and wagons to pick corn for larger-farm neighbors so we could go out and make big bucks! Hey, as much as 3c-5c a bushel at first and then later as awesome as 10c a bushel! And if we were good, we could make as much as $10 a day!
Wow! And kids think they have it tough these days! I don’t think we ever complained. We certainly never even thought of not going out to pick corn every day!…
– It’s been fun reminiscing, Ken! Thanks for listening! –Ray
You can write Ray at: eagleover50@juno.com
It’s been blustery in the Western Suburbs of Chicago lately. Saturday we enjoyed a drive in the county and a visit to a fall festival complete with pumpkins, and Indian corn, a hayride, music, and a huge craft barn. We may only have a little over a week of autumn color left to enjoy.
Sunday morning we drove south again to First Baptist Church in Momence. I preached on “America in Scripture” from Romans 1:18-32. Why America is under the judgment of God, what happens when a nation in under God’s judgment, and what to do about it. A significant number of the men of the church came forward at the end of the service with little prompting to say; “That’s the kind of man I want to be – ” It looks like I may preach regularly at First Baptist for a while.
Sunday night I preached here at the IBLP Staff Center again. I gave a quick overview of the book of Romans to emphasize the list of virtues that should be present in a consecrated community of believers found in Romans 12:9-21. I called it, “The House Rules for Christian Community.” I think we all long for the kind of experience in Christian community described there. We stayed late at the Staff Center over diner talking about the things of the Lord.
I went to refill my coffee cup at Panera this morning. A woman was there rooting through her large bag, which she had set on the counter along with her pastries and enough coffees for what appeared to be a small office staff. She was talking on her cell phone. Waiting to refill my mug, I was a captive audience.
“I don’t have them – . I’m sure I don’t have them,” she was saying. “Are you sure you didn’t use them last?” “Wait, I remember. They’re in the zipper pocket of my pink jacket. It’s hanging in the hall closet. If they’re not there call me back.”
I saw a brief opening and slipped my mug under the spout and filled it with black coffee. I made my way back to my computer to write, imagining her husband late for work, looking for the car keys, rooting through the hall closet for the pink jacket with the zipper pocket.
Steam spiraled up from my mug and I got to thinking. To make life work is a combination of a lot of little stuff. Find the keys, take out the trash, pay the bills, pay the bills some more, find the stuff you lost, wash it, clean it, put it away, get it out, use it again, fix it, insure it, store it, well – you know.
Days become weeks, weeks become months. Seasons and pass into seasons and years into years and you can stay so busy with all that little stuff that you just don’t take time for things that are really important, like listening. Maybe there is no better way to show someone that you love them than to listen to them. That is one of my goals in life. I want to learn to be a better listener.
Listen with my ears.
Listen with my eyes.
Listen with my posture.
Listen with my heart.
So far I’ve mostly been working on talking. When I’m not talking I like to write. I’m closing in on forty-eight years of talking. I want to spend the next half-century learning to be a really good listener. That way the people I love will know it and I will know them.
I want them to have memories of me listening with my ears and my eyes and my heart not just tossing the keys to them while I am on the way in and they are on the way out.
Ken Pierpont
Brook Place
Hinsdale, Illinois
October 17, 2006
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