Ragballs and Rifles Part 2

(If you haven’t read Part 1, please scroll down a bit....)

John 8
9At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. 10Jesus straightened up and asked her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"11"No one, sir," she said. "Then neither do I condemn you," Jesus declared. "Go now and leave your life of sin."


I am a member at First Baptist in Montgomery. The reason I like this church is that it seems to "get it"–from the pastor on down. Jay (and that is what we call him, not reverend or even pastor, simply Jay) has a way of effortlessly pointing us to the Master, and if he ever does refer to himself, it is in terms of self deprecating humor or his own failings and desperate need for a Savior. His words from the welcome on our web site sum it up:

First Baptist is not perfect. We are sinners, saved by grace, who thirst to be like our Lord Jesus Christ. We are an assembly of the forgiven, and we welcome you among us.
http://www.montgomeryfbc.org/

Seems to be working. It is the only downtown church that is experiencing exploding growth and the Wednesday night Power House draws teens from all over the city. I count it a great privilege that Jay baptized our son, Stephen, as he entered into his own relationship with Christ about 4 years ago.

I give you this opening not as an advertisement, but to let you know that this has not always been my experience with churches in my past.... I have heard this before and I believe there is some truth to it: Christians are the only Army that will kill their wounded.

OK, here come the ragballs and rifles. Here is a ruse we use (guilty, by the way):

Phone conversation—(favorite tool of the devil)

"Hey Jerry, Lance here....yea...uhmm.....listen we need to pray for Rob Ragball.....well yea, I know what’s going on but...I really shouldn't tell you...(load the magazine tube with .38's)...he’s just had some problems...(chambering the cartridge)......ok don’t tell anyone....with adultery.....(READY).....no! not with her, she’s a total loser!....(AIM)....it’s Donna, you know, Harry’s wife...(FIRE!)....but we need to stand in the gap for Rob Ragball and pray that he will turn from his wickedness (BANG!)....and Donna too...(Bang!)....no, I don’t think Harry knows....(BOOOOM!)....I heard it was the La Quinta....(BING! BANG! BOOM!)

Get the picture? Remember the Rifle Golfing game? A wounded Rob Ragball continues to get pulverized until we run him out of our sight or he gets as far away from us as possible to survive. Gossip, using the guise of prayer. Please.

This one is even better...or worse...that is. A friend of mine said she was actually in a ladies prayer group once and they started praying for a church member to be delivered from alcohol and pain pills ( This was not a known fact). It so shocked my friend that she put the big black X by that group. Could this one be the shotgun skeetball game? Just blast ‘em over the loblollys to the land of serpents and varmits!

Please don’t think I am indicting the whole Christian community with this kind of behavior. Sadly though, I must plead guilty.(Short Proverbs break: "When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable, but he who restrains his lips is wise. Prov10:19) Since we’re back to the Bible, let me finish by going to that beautifully haunting story in John 8:

Jesus the man’s Man, took the opposite approach. His first goal was to get these religious hypocrites out of poor woman's sight. Why did the older ones leave first as He was writing in the dirt? I have heard this explanation before, and it is speculation.... Maybe he wrote the word ‘extortionist' in the dirt....or ‘fornicator’....or ‘embezzler’....it might have shocked them into reality...hmmm...possible.... Alone, He converses in a very private and loving manner, forgives her sin, and tells her to leave that way of life.

He is the one who forgives; I am so aware of that awesome truth, but could it be that He is urging me to follow His methods? Can people trust me with their confidence? Will the wall of shock and awe go up and keep me from listening and ministering to the walking wounded in His army? Time will tell....but I do "get it" Lord.....

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov 17:22

The Hatter will be off his rocker for a day or two, stay tuned...and invite a friend!

Ragballs and Rifles

John 8
1But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. 2At dawn he appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. 3The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group 4and said to Jesus, "Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. 5In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?" 6They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.
But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. 7When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." 8Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.
9At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. 10Jesus straightened up and asked her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"
11"No one, sir," she said. "Then neither do I condemn you," Jesus declared. "Go now and leave your life of sin."

With a baseball player in the house, we have ball buckets all over the place. They fall into three categories:
1. The pearls. Reserved for the pitchers and catchers. Very hard and very white. Top of the food chain.
2. The utility bucket. Everyday practice balls, infield drills, BP, outfield drills. In Alabama, because of the distinctive red clay infields, they take on the hue of a golden retriever.
3. The ragballs. The lowest of the low. Most are the color of the rust. The stitching is ripped up, but they do serve a purpose. Soft toss drills and tee work. Some of the balls in this bucket eventually need to be culled, as they don’t even resemble a baseball. And what fun we have with these balls.

You know, a boy from the Deep South can make a game out of anything that resembles a ball, and throw in a gun and you have a real recipe for frivolity. We are no different than Ralphie, in “A Christmas Story”, craving that Red Rider BB Gun, with one exception; the caliber and the price tag grows over time. I took about 10 of these beaters down to the gun range on the family farm and here is what happened:

Game 1: Skeetball: Invented by SteveO and his cousin Matt. Flip a baseball up in the air like a clay bird. Try to make a direct hit with a 12 gauge shotgun. My niece Katie, an adept photographer, took a digital video of her testosterone laced brother’s and cousin’s escapade with unbelievable results. Instead of powdering it like a clay bird, a direct hit on that poor Spaulding sphere resulted in a home run that Barry Bonds only wishes he could produce. That ball cleared the sandy pit of our range, over the 100 foot loblolly pines and rested in an unknown place among the diamondbacks and the possums on a half shell (armadillos).

Game 2: Rifle Golfing: Invented by the dads and the boys. Toss an old ball out on the ground, get my Cowboy Carbine Repeater (remember Chuck Connors in "The Rifleman”?) and blast the pitiful orb until it rolls so far down the range that you can’t hit it anymore. Call us the Clampetts if you want to, but it was great fun. The winner is the guy who could roll it the furthest. The ball, simply put, was shot to hell.

Ok, you ask. This guy is really a mad hatter. What do these stories have to do with the scripture above? Of note, it is one of the most hauntingly beautiful stories of the New Testament, save the Passion, in my mind. The image of Christ writing on the ground with his finger…the security in His voice… a man’s man, no doubt.

Oh…back to your question…I think I have the answer, but you will just have to tune in next time, it is still rolling around in the mad hatter.

Mark the Mad Hatter
Prov 17:22

Friends

FRIENDS

John 15:15"No longer do I call you slaves, for the slave does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard from My Father I have made known to you.

This is not going to be one of those "let me show you my scar" stories, promise. It is about friendship. You will have to indulge me for a few paragraphs to set this thing up.

One year ago, Annie and I were watching our boy, as we have done on many hot Alabama summer days, work the plate like magic. There is nothing like seeing a catcher call for that strike three in the dirt. Like clockwork, SteveO goes to his knees, makes a cloud of dust with a body block and rips the ball down to first as the runner tries hopelessly to advance on that dirt ball. You baseball zealots, you know what I am talking about here. I live for these plays.

This day was different. I was not enjoying this game. And I couldn’t get out of the bed at our hotel the next morning. This is when I knew something was wrong. From a Sunday to a Tuesday, without all the gory details, I went from normal everyday stuff to an 8 inch gash in my chest, as 4 new arteries were inserted in my heart compliments of my left leg. No apparent reason, no weight, significant health issues, etc but a lifelong love of greasy fast foods and a sedentary lifestyle resulted in three 90% blockages and one 60% blockage. I have Nurse Annie to thank for my life, insisting that I see my doctor. I was fortunate. No heart damage.

Three weeks later, I was back at work part time. Disabled? Are you kidding? Can you imagine the immediate difference in this human shell I occupy as a result of the torrent of blood flow that I now was experiencing? One year later, I walk/jog 3 miles/5 times a week. I continue to tell myself that a veggie burger is a Hardees Monster Burger, but, well, you know.

Now the friendship part. I am excluding family here, their love is a given, at least in my life. Friends...they are a choice. As I was being wheeled in for surgery, I told Annie to make sure Jeff and Max take care of my boy if something goes wrong. Fighting back the tears, the strongest women I have ever known, nodded in agreement.

Jeff and Max. Our boys have known each other since kindergarten. We have coached every sport imaginable over the years. I managed a team that went to the last out of the Dixie World Series in Lynchburg Va with Jeff one summer (alas, we lost, but runner-up wasn't too shabby). Jeff is that guy who gets the left hand--right hand thing (

Matt.6:3-4) Max is the guy I call if I am in jail at 2 AM for some nefarious behavior.

I heard this one time. Look at your hand. Count the digits. If you end up with that many true friends in life, you have had a good life. One other friend on that hand—who wasn’t mentioned, but didn’t have to be, is the guy who has managed all my life insurance business over the years. Although not directly involved in those affairs now, I knew if something happened, Allie-Cat would be on the phone to Murray---and Murray would get the job done.

I leave you with this. Somewhere from you mid 20’s to your 50’s life gets messy. The neat little package all of a sudden gets trimmed with scars and surgical wires. Some of you may be facing a similar health issue; there may have been some strained interpersonal matters along the way, etc. I went from total embarrassment to great pride looking at that scar every morning. Behind the scar is a changed heart, both physically and spiritually. Ponder the scars in your own life...and embrace them. They will teach you some big lessons, if you let them.

Embrace those five finger friends. Don’t let them disappear from your life. Love your family. Love your spouse. She/He may be the one left one day to clean up the mess. And most of all, laugh. Funny, I told my cardiologist I went from a person who ground my molars to dust in a silent fuming fury to a person who can go from nuclear to sappy in about 30 seconds. She laughed and said that the medical journals are full of folks like me. And I laughed. Lots laughter in between the nuclear and the sappy. My heat is merry , life is a beautiful mess, and I love it.

Mark the Mad Hatter

Proverbs 17:22

A joyful heart is good medicine,

But a broken spirit dries up the bones.

A Defining Moment

A Defining Moment Columbus GA, 1965 "Looks like Leon is home with all those cars in front of his house", I thought to myself. My 9 year old fist froze in mid air as I was about to knock on the screen door. A mournful sob emanated from the living room; it was his mom. A few hours earlier, Leon’s family had been the recipient of some dreadfully black news from the Dept of Defense, compliments of the Columbus Yellow Cab Company. Yes, the portrayal of this incident in the movie, "We Were Soldiers" was true, except many of us war families did not live on Ft. Benning, we resided in the civilian military town of Columbus. The casualties were so overwhelming, the death notices were delivered by cab. I saw Leon about a week later. Our eyes met briefly, and fell to the Georgia red dirt, as we kicked up a few nervous dust clouds with our Keds. "Wanna play?......" I asked quietly. "Yeah...." Leon replied. It was a time in my young life that has stayed with me for all of my years. My Dad had left earlier in the year and was serving during the time of Col Hal Moore, author of "We were Soldiers Once... and Young", in the 1st CAV Division in South Vietnam,. He was flying the Army’s biggest bird, the CH54 Skycrane, and its unusual size was trumped only by its bizarre shape. The pilots were close, likewise; the families left back home shared meals frequently while the gaggle of kids watched Batman twice weekly. (Pop, 1965, S. Vietnam) Our own black news soon enveloped our little rental home; one of the Cranes had crashed and all crew members had been killed instantly. It was a freak accident, not a direct act of war. The black and white Zenith TV glowed with the story, with this catch: "the names are not being released at this time, until notification of next of kin...." Sometime during this year, Mom had started taking my older brother, my toddling sister, and me to Hillcrest Baptist Church. Jeff and I "walked the aisle" one Sunday, as I felt a real need to "go down front". Mom prayed for us, took us to see the pastor, and on cue, during "Just As I Am", we went "down front". This, however is not the defining moment from my title. But it did start the spiritual wheel turning in my life, one that has seen a few frozen axles over the years, and currently is in overdrive. As the news played this story, it did not take a young boy long to figure out that the odds were not good. The Army had less than 10 of these big helos over there, and the number of trained pilots to fly these behemoths was minuscule in number. If it wasn’t Pop, it would surely be someone we knew. The defining moment came from a young Army wife, an incident that is burned into my brain and my memory forever. After LeeAnn was put down for the night, Mom gathered Jeff and me beside her bed. We knelt in prayer and I remember this: "God, what has happened, has happened. Please just give us the strength to handle what is to come." The security of those words, the power of a praying Mama. Yet as I think about it now, she was 35, fifteen years younger than I am now. I can only imagine her real thoughts and fears: "How am I going to raise these kids?, Will I have to go back to teaching? How can I do that with a toddler? Why can’t the Army get word to us? This can’t be happening.....". None of this came through to her children. Word finally did come after many agonizing hours. Pop’s life was spared, but a family that we shared spaghetti and Batman with weekly, well, life for them changed forever. Al Gajon, a true Cajun, was one of the casualties of that cruel accident. Two years ago, my son’s school took off for the annual Washington DC trip for Eighth graders. I wrote down CWO Gajon's name and told SteveO to take a picture of it on that long black wall. He presented it to his Grandpa upon return. As I have reviewed this defining moment in my life over the years, I am reminded of the following words of Christ: "....how I have often wanted to gather your children together, like a hen gathers her chicks under her wing...."( Mt 23:37) It is my sincere prayer that there will be an incident burned into my son’s mind, somewhere on his journey on the Emmaus Road, of the undying, unselfish love of his own mother. The permanent memory of this incident has brought me home to Christ many times, this example of a loving Mama Hen gathering those chicks into a place of refuge and safety. Mark

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Mark the Mad Hatter