John Wesley

From a sermon on assurance:

Wesley was the leader of the revival that led to the Methodists. Wesley was born to two godly parents, one was even an Anglican priest. He grew up under the instruction of the church and under the testimony of God’s presence in the world.

He even decided to be a priest himself and went through all his studies and graduated from Oxford. Convinced by guilt, he even went on a mission trip to the wild frontier of America to this new place called Georgia, a slave colony that was surrounded by Native Americans. He thought he could surely convince them of the truth of Jesus Christ that he had heard time and time again in his studies and from his parents.

On the ship on the way over to America, he disciplined himself in order to be productive and acceptable to God. Here is what a typical day looked like as he was going over to America

4:00-5:00 am private prayer

5:00-7:00 am Bible study

7:00-8:00 breakfast

8:00-9:00 public prayer

9:00-12:00 German lesson

12:00-1:00 Met together to give an account of the morning

1:00-2:00 lunch

2:00-4:00 Reading

4:00-5:00 Evening prayer

5:00-6:00 dinner

6:00-7:00 Reading

7:00-8:00 Worship

8:00-9:00 Bible Study

9:00 sleep

During the journey he met a group of travelers from Germany that utterly amazed him. This difference was shown in their moment of crisis. As they were sailing across the Atlantic they were hit by a series of storms that Wesley calls hurricanes. Now, I went on a cruise a few years ago and our ship was huge. And the ship even had stabilizers the counter the weight and shifts of weight and waves, and I still felt ill from the constant rocking of ship, and we had nothing but calm weather. So, I then think what it would have been like to be in a small wooden ship with the creaking of the ship and the constant rolling of the waves, and the water breaking over on to the deck and I can’t imagine how miserable that would have been. How frightening that would have been.

Wesley described it like this, “during their service [that is, the Germans worship service] the sea

broke over, split the main-sail pieces, covered the ship, and poured in between the decks, as if the great deep had already swallowed us up. A terrible screaming began among the English. The Germans sung on. I asked one of them afterwards, “Were you not afraid?” He answered, “ I thank God, no.” I asked, “But were not your women and children afraid?” He replied, mildly, “No; our women and children are not afraid to die.”

So, John Wesley, the man who would one day lead a great revival found himself utterly afraid of his own death. He had lived his whole life in pursuit of salvation and when it came down to it, he learned that all of his pursuits had been in vain. Wesley couldn’t understand how these Germans could have such confidence in their salvation.

After a few days, the storm finally passed after damaging the ship in several places. Life got back to normal on the ship, but Wesley couldn’t shake the experience of the storm. So, he sought out the pastor of the Germans and had to ask him about this experience. Wesley wrote about it in his journal. He wrote,

I soon found what spirit he was of; and asked his advice with regard to my own conduct. He said, “my brother, I must first ask you one or two questions. Have you the witness within yourself? Does the Spirit of God bear witness with your spirit, that you are a child of God?” I was surprised, and knew not what to answer. He observed it, and asked, “Do you know Jesus Christ?” I paused, and said, “I know he is the Savior of the world.” “True,” replied he; “but do you know he has saved you?” I answered, “I hope he has died to save me.” He only added, “Do you know yourself?” I said, “I do.” But I fear they were vain words.

This experience with these German Christians continued to haunt him. Had he worked his whole life in vain? All of this discipline, all the hard work, had it led to anything because in the end he couldn’t answer with confidence the question of did he know Jesus Christ.

The ship finally came to port in Georgia, and John went ahead with his planned mission trip. His confidence was shaken though and he wondered how he could preach to others when he himself didn’t even know if he was saved. Little surprise then that his mission trip was a complete failure in his eyes.

He returned to England feeling like a failure and struggling with these questions of faith. He began to seek answers to his questions. He took three strategic steps to find answers. First he sought out those with the confidence he was looking for. Second, he decided to begin to pray for this confidence. Third, he renounced looking for holiness in what he did with his actions.

And a few months later he had this experience that he wrote about,

In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust Christ, Christ alone for salvation: And an assurance was given me, that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”

Praying with Bill Mason

Every week the Asbury staff gets together to share some things going on in the church and pray for the prayer requests that had been submitted the week before. I was sitting by myself towards the front, in my usual place, and I noticed that Bill Mason was also sitting in the front, in his normal place. Our normal friends we sat with were not with us. So, I approached Bill to pray with him.

Now I have heard before that Bill Mason is a man of prayer who rises early to pray every day. He is the one who grew Asbury from a few families to thousands of members. As we got together the leader that morning, a youth staff person, had shared about a ministry in the youth department that was about healing the hurts of life such as divorce, death, abuse, etc. She challenged us to share with our prayer partners a struggle we were going through as well.

I put that out of my mind because I couldn't really think of any struggles I am facing right now. They all seem rather petty. I feel good about my marriage. I feel balanced in my work, recreation, and exercise. I'm spending more time with God. I've decided to stay on as a pastor at the church. Everything is going well right now.

So, I prayed. I prayed for a woman who was going through an abusive situation. I prayed with gusto. I tried to evoke the emotion and the stirring of my faith. Sometimes I feel that if I pray with the right amount of emotion then I "feel" the faith I need. This brings to mind sitting in a Christ's Church small group at Jay and Jodie's house in Joplin. We were talking about faith and Jay shared that we don't have to conjure up faith in order to pray. For some reason this really resonated with me. I've heard a lot of emotional prayers in my day, and it seems that the emotional prayers are really the effective ones. So, sometimes I am sorry to admit I take the lead by conjuring up the faith needed for God to move.

So, I took this approach yet again trying to show Bill Mason my own level of faith.

Then it was Bill's turn. He simply read the prayer request out loud by saying "Lord, so and so asks for ... won't you help them?" Then he said, "the speaker this morning challenged us to share our issues during this time..." I didn't share mine because I was with Bill Mason. I didn't really know what to say and I didn't want to say anything that was superficial. He went on, "Its hard to think of a hard one, but I do ask that you help me and my wife with our weight. Amen."

The simplicity of this man's prayer floored me. I think of Jesus' words about not going on and on for men to hear.

Lord, have mercy on me for my hypocrisy.

Global Warming?

I read recently in National Geographic that the American Southwest experienced the wettest century in nearly 1500 years last century. Based upon studying the thickness of tree rings, scientists can tell the amount of water that fell in a given area. Because the land is so dry, trees are able to stick around for over a thousand years after they die. National Geographic worries about the amount of water that will sustain the area with the great population boom. These worries are highlighted by the threat of global warming.

Tulsa experienced a record high for February 4th. Today reached 81 degrees, which of course, meant that I had to be outside instead of working on a computer in an office with no windows. On my way from lunch with several guys from Asbury, someone made a joke about global warming and two of the guys preceded to talk about how they thought global warming is a sham. After all, the scientists have to be guessing, right?

I've heard one of these guys at another time talk about the lack of available data supporting global warming. Why is this? Why are Christians so scared to admit that global warming could be a serious threat. Is it because it is an affront to the sovereignty of God? Is it because American interests and Kingdom interests have become so closely entwined?

Looking for the trail

After months of inactivity, Abby and I found ourselves enjoying the blessing of warm winter weather. We loaded up our bikes and the dog and headed south towards Okmulgee to find some trails the Oklahoma State Parks website was advertising. To our dissapointment there were no such trails, at least we couldn't find the trailhead. We explored the park, and yet came up empty handed as far as trails go. I think Abby was relieved.

One thing I did discover though. We were sitting by a lake, presumably Okmulgee Lake enjoying the stillness of the day, the lack of traffic noise, and the pristine waters when I realized how I needed such trips. I live my life driving through traffic, sitting through meetings, and working out of a windowless office. I must be outdoors! Getting away for an afternoon, even if it was still inactive was good for my soul.

Anorexia nearly killed my wife’

From MSNBC on January 26, 2008:

Anorexia nearly killed my wife

By Tom Cramer, as told to Brian Alexander

updated 12:55 p.m. CT, Sun., Jan. 20, 2008

Psychiatric wards are places where they take sharp objects and shoelaces from patients. My wife lived in one for two weeks, when doctors feared she was a danger to herself.

The day Meg was admitted, she was 83 pounds, down from a healthy 109 on her 5'1" frame just five months earlier. Driving home from the aerobics class she taught, she had become nauseated and faint and had chest pains. She went to the ER, where they sent her to the psychiatric ward. When I arrived, I was terrified — and relieved. Maybe, finally, doctors could help her in ways I hadn’t been able to. It was the beginning of Meg’s fight to overcome anorexia, and the start of my own to help the woman I love so much.

Perfect beginnings
After my first date with Meg during my freshmen year of college, I came home and told my roommate, “I could see myself marrying her one day.” He wrote those words in his journal, and five and a half years later, read them aloud to the guests at our wedding. Meg became my best friend, someone who laughed at my goofy jokes, knew a lot about the Steelers and was scary smart. After we had our sons, Mikey and Ryan, she floored me all over again as a mother. Our happiness was clearly visible: People would ask me, “What’s your secret?” and I would say, “When you find the right person, everything else is easy.”

But not everything was easy for Meg. Before we had kids, she worked in child advocacy in Washington, D.C., and loved her career — but when my job transfer forced us to move to North Carolina and then to Pittsburgh, where both our families were, Meg became a stay-at-home mom. Living just miles from our parents, she felt she was under constant scrutiny, pressured to be the perfect wife, mother, daughter and daughter-in-law. I began to understand that beneath my wife’s tough exterior, she was a pleaser.

This desire for perfection extended to Meg’s body. She’d always compared herself to other women, pointing out ones who were thinner. After the birth of our youngest, Ryan, she was determined to lose the last 20 pounds of baby weight. Through dieting and exercise, the pounds came off, and Meg started to wear sexy clothes and exude confidence. When she began teaching and taking daily aerobics classes and cutting out most food, though, even our then five-year-old noticed the difference. “My mom is the queen of salads!” he announced once to a waitress.

I wish I could say that love led me to know what to do. But instead I was cocky. Eating disorders didn’t happen to perfect couples like us. Although I knew she was very thin, I wasn’t able to see that she had a serious disease. I remember bragging to friends that my wife was a hot aerobics instructor.

Wanting to fix things
My arrogance also made me think that I could fix things. As an engineer, I identify an issue and find a solution. “I can handle this,” I told myself. There was, after all, a simple answer: Meg needed to eat more, and I thought I could persuade her to do that. I reasoned that Meg’s job was to get her prescribed calories and readjust her thinking; mine was to take care of the house and kids while she did that. I became superdad: I made dinner for the boys and started cleaning. Every toy was in place, and one dirty sock became a reason to do the laundry.

Since that time, I’ve learned that anorexia does not have an on/off switch. What Meg needed from me was adult interaction and emotional support, not clean clothes. Which is why, under my brilliant strategy, we went from a couple that rarely fought to one that argued all the time about food and the gym.

The more I pushed her to change, the more she pushed back. She tossed the sexy clothes and adopted a uniform of baggy pants and shirts to hide her wasting body from me. We rarely made love. She had so little energy that she’d fall in bed by eight, just after the kids went to sleep. Her allergies flared and her periods stopped. I found myself making excuses for Meg’s gaunt appearance, telling friends and family that she had the flu or another illness.

Our arguments escalated until one night we went out without the kids and I ordered a cheeseburger for her. She refused to touch it. I begged. Finally I said, “If you really love me, you will eat this!” She wouldn’t. I knew she still loved me, but I was devastated. The plate sat there between us, untouched.

To Meg that meal was probably like so many others, with me nagging and her not budging. But to me it marked a milestone. I finally realized that this wasn’t an eating problem. Meg was fighting me as she never had before, and the problem was more than food. The flawless world I’d convinced myself we lived in had spun out of control. We weren’t perfect. And Meg was very, very sick. Two weeks after my failed showdown at the restaurant, I got the call from Meg at the hospital. Doctors said she’d almost had heart failure and that she was in a state of extreme emotional distress.

My own anorexia experience
After Meg was hospitalized and we started weekly group therapy sessions, I went into overdrive to understand what was pushing my wife to shun food. Didn’t Meg see her ribs sticking out or the sad bit of muscle clinging to her butt? Wasn’t she smart enough to know she should just eat more? I wanted to be inside her head, in her skin, to grasp what was doing this to the woman I thought I knew so well.

In these therapy sessions Meg and others talked repeatedly about the feeling of control they got from anorexia. But what did that mean? How could your own mind tell you to starve yourself? How could you feel good about it? When I imagined missing just one meal, let alone most, there was no payoff, nothing that made it worthwhile. I decided that if I was going to truly understand those emotions — and truly help Meg — I needed to feel what she was feeling, so I decided to starve myself.

For more than a week, without telling anyone, I tried to simulate anorexia. In addition to my daily routine of running three miles, I severely limited my calories. I’d have juice and maybe a banana for breakfast and a small salad for dinner. Since Meg and I usually ate separately, she didn’t notice. But I was exhausted and irritable; my head ached constantly. I’d lie in bed at night and think, I am so hungry! How does she do it? How can the voice Meg hears be so powerful?

But by day three, I began hearing the voice too: “Come on, you can do it. Don’t give in. You’re better than that.” When I refused food, I had a sense of victory. The longer I resisted, the more powerful I felt. When Meg was admitted to the hospital, I thought that she had failed and allowed this to happen. Now I understood the seduction of the words in her head, how they could override the most basic human survival instincts. And I saw her as a hero — who had to be incredibly strong in her fight to recover.

I didn’t tell Meg about my experiment for almost a year, but my attitude changed immediately. No longer ashamed because I thought my wife was weak, I got over my need for us to be exalted as perfect. I stopped lying to friends and family that Meg had the flu. As I was more honest, support and encouragement flowed in — our friends didn’t distance themselves or disappear as I’d feared. I became the advocate Meg needed, able to coach others on why they should never mention Meg’s appearance or comment on her food choices. For example, if someone said, “A salad! That won’t be enough!” I would remember times that I’d used those very words, and then I’d explain that pressuring her wouldn’t help and might make things worse. Instead of trying to protect her by denying that there was a problem, I became a speed bump between my wife and the rest of the world.

Ready to get healthy
I had changed, but Meg was still not fully ready. She would make progress, only to face setbacks and lose weight. But then one day in January, after a difficult holiday season, I came home and found the bathroom scale lying in pieces in the driveway. Meg had thrown it out the window.

“What’s going on?” I asked, picking up parts of the scale from the concrete.
“I’m sick of us constantly arguing about this, of everything being about it!” she said. “I must really be sick if this has taken over our lives.”

This was the Meg I had married. She made a decision that day; she was ready to get healthy.

I still have a piece of the scale — it reads 74.5 pounds. It sits in my top drawer, a reminder of all we’ve been through. I’ll never let it go.

After that Meg and I made a deal. I promised that if she would trust me to be her eyes, I would never, ever lie to her about how she looked. Her own brain might deceive her, but she knows that I never will. At times this pledge has meant having to answer every man’s least favorite question: “Do I look fat?” Even though she never does, when a pair of pants or a skirt is not the most flattering, I gently tell her. It’s our agreement to this day and I am humbled by her trust in me.

Meg is back to a healthy size, though she still has setbacks sometimes. While my radar is always up, I told her I would never ask what she weighs, and I don’t. When I do notice a change, I say something like, “I see that you’re struggling and I’m here if you need anything.” We don’t discuss it or turn it into a battle, and she always gets herself back on track.

If you were to meet us today, you’d never know we’d lived through such a problem. We spend a lot of our weekends watching the boys play baseball or hockey. Sometimes I coach as Meg yells encouragement from the stands. Afterward we might all go out for a pizza and, yes, Meg may have a slice, though she still gets a salad, too. I once shouted, “There will be no more salads in this house!” — but now we can laugh about her favorite side order.

We don’t say we’re over anorexia, we say we live with it. Meg can easily spot someone with the disease, and while she’s happy not to be consumed by it any more, she still hears that little voice. Not long ago she told me, “I wonder how some women can keep it up, how they can stay skinny for so long when I couldn’t.”

After she said it, I simply looked at her. Imagine knowing that the person you love more than you ever thought you could love had to fight something so mind-altering. Having faced it myself, even for just a few days, I am left in awe of her bravery. The other day somebody asked me, “You’re crazy about your wife, aren’t you?” All I could say, before I teared up, was, “You have no idea.”

Preaching on forgiveness

I preached a sermon this last week on forgiveness, and I really wrestled with the issue of bitterness and the command to forgive as we have been forgiven. As I was preaching this, I felt the heaviness of the situation upon me. This sermon was exposing the darkness for what it really was. The stories I heard after the sermon confirmed this. One man told me about how his dad had cheated on him mom and altogether left the family. How can he forgive him?
This issue cripples people and I have to realize the intensly spiritual battle occuring in people's lives. Scripture says our battle is not against flesh and blood, but with powers and principalities. This has some big ramifications. I was preaching to some people who had spiritual oppression occuring in thier lives. They were crippled by feelings of unforgiveness.
My own family is dealing with this right now. How can my parents forgive my sister for being a lesbian? She has made some choices that are tearing my family apart.
Yet we pray, 'forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

Back to the autoshop

Several weeks ago an ice storm destroyed Tulsa. Part of that destruction was a mirror knocked off my car. Since that happened I was able to get my damage appraised for much more than it actually was, and then I was able to get my windshield fixed for free. I left my car at the autobody shop to get the mirror and windshield fixed, but for some reason the only thing that got fixed was my windshield. Somehow my mirror was not attached. So, I didn't pay for the repairs until they finished up the work. I had to go out of town the next week, but once I was back in town I set up an appointment to get my mirror fixed for them to finish their work. I was scheduled to go in two days, but as I was driving down the road I couldn't see a car coming up on my driver side, because of the missing mirror, and I ran into them in their lane. Of course, it was an Asbury member.

So, I returned to the shop to get my car appraised and to see if they could fix it when the mirror was supposed to be fixed, and the saddest thing happened. I was somehow remembered at the shop because it had been that soon. They greeted me by name and even made small talk with me like I worked there. Its never a good sign when the autobody shop knows you by name.