Semper Fi, Mac

I never cease to be amazed at the different encounters I have in my travels.

As I mentioned in my article last week, I am in Tacna, Peru with the mission team from my church where we are working toward completing the construction of a new church. It is the Tacna IML, which is the abbreviation in Spanish for the Free Methodist Church (IML is: Iglesia Metodista Libre).

After working very hard all week spreading dirt and rocks, mixing cement, welding trusses and all the rest that goes into a major construction project, we rewarded ourselves on the weekend. Friday afternoon about four o’clock the ladies on our team put a birthday cake in the oven. More than three hours later they pulled it out. Working with a Centigrade oven can be challenging. The cake never did rise much, leaving all of us to think we would merely be enjoying one very large cookie. To our surprise and delight, the cake actually baked and was quite tasty. This was all done to celebrate Ann's birthday on Saturday.

So, on Saturday morning we chartered a bus (not to be confused with Greyhound or Trailways), and headed toward Peru’s neighbor to the south, Chile. The first town inside Chile is Arica, where our host pastor in Tacna hails from. Great town which sits right on the Pacific Ocean. It was lunchtime so we decided to eat at a very nice restaurant sitting on the rocks of the shore, overlooking the harbor and beach area. Business was slow, so our party of twenty-one was a nice diversion for the restaurant staff. They seated us on a partially enclosed balcony where we could enjoy the view and the cool breeze.

Being ever interested in what’s around the next corner, I wandered off to explore the rest of the eating establishment with camera in hand. There were several delightful views from various places in the restaurant, so I kept clicking away.

I had noticed a middle-aged man when we first walked in, standing at the windows looking at the ocean view with drink in hand. I was struck immediately with two thoughts: First – he’s an American (Yes! We Americans actually look, dress, stand and move differently). Second – I was willing to bet he was prior military, quite probably a Marine.

I was standing a short distance from him, positioning myself for a camera angle on the coastline, when we caught each other’s eye, followed by verbal acknowledgements. This opened a
conversation in which we quickly discovered we had both served as Marines in Vietnam, though at different times. We also share the same first name. He served with 3rd Force Recon in Vietnam from ’67-’68. This was the same time period my brother was a Marine CH46 helicopter pilot in Nam. Chuck told me he had left the Marines after a tour of Embassy duty in Madrid, Spain. He returned home and spent the next thirty years serving as a police officer in central Illinois before retiring.

We talked for some time before being interrupted by one of the mission team members informing me that my shrimp soup was on the table getting cold. I invited Chuck to bring his drink and join us, which he did. I further discovered that he was in South America traveling alone on his motorcycle. His goal is to ride to southern Chile before heading back home to the good ol’ U.S. of A. He began his sojourn last September!

One of the ladies on our team is married to a retired Marine gunnery sergeant who was also with 3rd Force Recon in Nam, only a couple of years after Chuck. I wanted Anna to meet him since I knew it would be meaningful to her, and later when she got back home, she could tell her husband. Small world!

Chuck sat at the table with us until we’d all eaten our huge lunches, including ice cream for some. It was my duty to pay the tab for the team, after which I walked outside with Chuck to rejoin the team at the bus. We were still talking when the maitre‘d came running out with Chuck’s backpack. He politely thanked the man but explained that he had to come back in to pay for his drink anyway. The maitre‘d then said he’d thought Chuck was with our group, so he’d added the bar tab to the lunch tab. Since I’d already paid the tab for lunch, it was a done deal. Now, we Free Methodists lean toward being teetotalers, and the pastors are sworn to it personally. So you can imagine the hooting I received when the mission team discovered I had inadvertently paid for Chuck’s drink!

It has been said that if two Marines are in a room full of people, they’ll find each other. This is a true statement. There is a brotherhood, camaraderie, a shared experience that all Marines have. Chuck and I, from different parts of the United States, wind up meeting, not on some war-torn foreign shore, but in a sleepy little town on the coast of Chile.

I know a little something of the hell Chuck went through in Vietnam. Let me simply say it was an honor to meet him. And I’m proud to have bought him that drink.

Semper Fi, Chuck! Here’s to the Corps!

An Open Book

I’m in another part of the world again, only this time it is not with the military. This is a short-term mission trip to Peru, a country located about mid-way down the west coast of South America.

Not long after assuming the role of senior pastor at my church in Ripon, I shared a deeply held belief I have with the head of our Mission Committee. That belief, which is not unique to me, is that a church that is not involved in missions is a dying church. I challenged the committee to think big, because I wanted God to receive the credit and the glory for any missionary endeavor we engaged in. So, our first trip was to Ethiopia in the spring of 2002, where we worked in a new medical clinic in the capital of Addis Ababa, plus missionary work out in the farther regions of that historic land. We followed that up with a trip to Malawi in the fall of 2003. This time we labored in back-breaking work to erect a church in the town of Mzuzu.

The trip to Peru is actually our 2004 trip that was bumped to late winter of 2005 due to climactic conditions. In any event, we are here, and already the experiences have been memorable, as well as challenging.

Last Thursday night, the seventeen team members stayed the night in a hotel near the San Francisco airport. You see, our flight was leaving at seven the next morning, which means we had to be there at five. Everything worked out just fine, and we were on our way to Peru, stopping in Atlanta, Georgia for our connecting international flight to Lima, Peru. The two flights totaled ten hours of flying time.

We arrived at the Lima airport at eleven-thirty at night on Friday. The shuttle that was to pick us up, didn’t. We wound up taking five cabs loaded with people and luggage to the Holiday Inn in the center of the capital city where we had reservations. Or so we hoped! I will not bore you with the details of our experiences with the hotel. Suffice it to say, all did not go smoothly, but we managed to work it out.

We spent several hours Saturday walking around parts of central Lima, taking pictures, and being amazed at seeing a huge McDonalds, along with a Pizza Hut, Burger King, and Dunkin Donuts, all in the same circular intersection. That afternoon we had a shuttle bus to take us back to the airport for our continuing flight to the city of Tacna, Peru, our final destination. This place is located in the southern most part of Peru. The Free Methodist Church has several churches in Peru, but this one in Tacna is where we are to help complete the building project for their new church facility. Currently, they meet in an old theater house for their Sunday night worship service. They also have a Saturday night Youth service, so after we arrived last night, the youth all came barreling into the pastor’s house where we are staying. These young people, aged fourteen to twenty-five, were refreshingly gracious, greeting us with hugs and a kiss on the cheek. They stayed until quite late, repeating the hug and kiss as they left. It was quite a welcome for us.

Today, Sunday, the mission team had its own worship service in the house before heading out to stroll around the markets. Many of the same young people spent the day with us, showing us the local restaurants and making sure we got the best deals on souvenir items.

Tonight we attended the worship service in the theater where Pastor Samuel serves. He arranged for some cultural exposure for the ¨norteamericanos.¨ Several young men and women dressed in the traditional colorful garb representing the areas where the Free Methodists have churches. They also served us samplings of the food from those areas. Pastor Eduardo Paulino, a friend who pastor’s our Free Methodist church in San Francisco, and one of our team members, was the preacher. We sang and had a wonderful time of worship. I was wondering about the offering and whether they do it the way most churches in America do, by passing the plate down the rows.

Well, they do take the collection down the rows, only it’s not an offering plate – it’s a Bible. The team (all seventeen of us) was seated together in two rows, and none of us were expecting to have an open Bible passed to us as an offering plate.

It did make me think for a moment. How appropriate, really, to have the open Bible used as the spot for you to place your monetary offering. Would any person really want to have their life be an ¨open book?¨ After all, here’s the book that lays bare the soul of everyone. The written Word of God emanates from the pages, causing a person to, hopefully, be a bit more honest in their dealings with God.

Am I likely to institute this same practice in the Ripon Free Methodist Church? No, I seriously doubt it. But it did give me pause to rethink the way we give back to God what is his in the first place.

But I can’t quite shake the question: Am I comfortable having my life as an open book when held up to the light of Scripture?

Are you?

Boomers and Backyard Bomb Shelters

I’m one of those classified by sociologists as a Baby Boomer. That’s my generation. We’re the ones who grew up reveling in the exploits of our fathers being the heroes of World War Two. My own step-father served as a Marine in the Pacific from 1944-46. I still have his picture taken of him in his “Alphas,” the wool-green uniform with corporal stripes on the sleeve. It’s one of my proudest pictures.

The “Greatest Generation” accomplished more good for the freedom of the world than even they could have known. Three despotic nations, Germany, Italy and Japan, formed an unholy alliance to rule the world. They had the military muscle to make it happen, and to enslave the rest of the free world. In my studies of WWII and the battles fought, I never cease to be amazed at the determination of the American people, and in particular, the American fighting man. The Army and the Marine Corps developed amphibious assault, a technique relatively untested prior to the island campaigns through the Pacific.

In June 1940, the British Army found itself backed against the English Channel near Dunkirk, facing annihilation by a relentless German Army that was giddy in believing they were eliminating their toughest opponent. The temerity of the British saved the day when ordinary citizens caballed together an unlikely flotilla of dinghies, yachts, and anything else that would float, sailing them across the Channel to rescue their beleaguered warriors who would live to fight another day.

As the Free World basked in the glory of freedom from fanatical rulers, a dark cloud emerged on the political horizon. The Soviet Union was rapidly becoming a world power. They controlled the eastern halves of Berlin and Germany. In the years following WWII, the Soviets moved against hapless Eastern European nations, gobbling them up in a fashion reminiscent of the Nazi take-over of the same region only a few years earlier.

Then the jet-age came into its own, allowing folks to cross the Atlantic in record time. Americans were on the move. Tourism became a booming industry. Close on the heels of the jet-age was the race-to-space. There were only two players in this: the USSR and the USA. Coupled with this was the ongoing weapons race. Each nation had a growing number of missiles, many carrying nuclear warheads, aimed at the other’s key national targets.

As a 50’s kid, we soon learned how to take cover in class should we be attacked. At the time, we were living just outside New York City. Even as an adolescent, I knew one of the first places to be targeted would be NYC. Hiding under my desk was not going to change the outcome. We were toast!

Then we came up with the Bomb Shelter. Remember those? I used to wonder what would happen if you owned a bomb shelter. Here you have it well-stocked with fresh water, canned food, and a battery-powered radio when the alarm sounds. You and your family (amazingly) are all home at the same time. You race to the backyard bomb shelter, equipped for the four of you. The hatch is closed and locked, and you begin the wait. Then there’s a frantic rap on the hatch. It’s your neighbor and his family. Won’t you please let them in? Glad we never had to find out!

Here we were a few decades ago worrying about a cataclysmic encounter with another superpower. Today, we smile whimsically when we think of the backyard bomb shelters. The former Soviet Union, though still dangerous, is no longer a major world power.
Let me ask those of you who can remember back to the days when America was crossing philosophical swords with the Soviets. Did you ever think you would see this Communist juggernaut dismantled in your lifetime? How about East Germany free to reunite with West Germany? Who made that happen? We did.

Did you ever think you would see the Russians move toward a democracy? They’re not quite there yet, but they’re moving in the right direction. Did you ever think you would see an American president (Reagan) challenge the “Evil Empire” to “tear down this wall”? Did you ever think you would see an American president (Bush 43) travel to Europe and scold the Russian president (Putin) for not making a genuine effort at the democratization of Russia?

Or how about this: Did you ever think you’d see democracy in Afghanistan, the country that was regarded as the Soviets “Vietnam”? Did you ever think you’d see Iraq become a democracy? How about the Ukraine? Or the Palestinians?

Then today in the news we see that Egypt – that’s right, Egypt – and their president of twenty-four years, Hosni Mubarak, has declared his nation will have free and open democratic elections later this year. Why? Pressure from the streets of the Middle East. Mubarak sees the handwriting on the wall. There has been a significant uprising fomenting in Iran, and now in Lebanon wanting Syria out of their land so they can determine their own destiny. That, my friends, is called democracy. It’s also called Freedom on the March!

Why has this happened? Because America is still the beacon of hope and freedom to the world. We are also the one nation that has the will, the capability, and the fortitude to aggressively oppose world terrorism, and to bring freedom to the oppressed. Nations are yearning for freedom, a rare commodity outside of the United States.

I am so excited to be living during such a time as this in our history!

All Volunteer Military

I was enjoying dinner recently following a wedding, engaged in discussions on politics, religion and “The War.” I know these are taboo topics in polite company, and you’re probably thinking I would do well to avoid such controversial, not to mention volatile, subjects.

Well, if you’re not discussing religion, politics, or war, then you’re probably talking about the weather, or somebody’s grandkids. And that will only take you so far. I enjoy lively, spirited discussions on such topics. Every evening at home while growing up, current events were discussed in the kitchen while dinner was being prepared. You quickly learned to defend your position, or remain silent. It was great fun!

So, I’m sitting with a group of people I’ve never met before, enjoying the wedding feast, and animatedly engaged in discussion with my table-mates. One lady had remained quiet early on, but finally chimed in. She said she was against the war in Iraq all along, and was particularly concerned that her nineteen year old son would be in danger. I asked her if her son was in the military. She said no. I replied, “Then you have nothing to worry about.” She said, “But they could bring back the draft.”

Allow me to present to you this nagging issue of the draft. There is no draft. Period. Even if there was a move to reinstate the draft, it would take a significant amount of time to get those wheels rolling. But just so you know, here’s what the home page of the Selective Service System says (http://www.sss.gov/):

On October 5, 2004, the House of Representatives voted 402 - 2 to defeat H.R. 163, the bill cited as proof that the Selective Service was preparing to reinstate a military draft. The vote made official what has been a reality since January 7, 2003, when H.R. 163 was introduced despite nearly total opposition in Congress to restoring the draft. Without Congressional support, the draft cannot be reinstated. A similar bill languishes in the Senate.
Both President George W. Bush and Senator John F. Kerry have stated for the record that they oppose a draft. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld also has opposed the draft on numerous occasions.

It’s important to remember that Congressman Charlie Rangel, Democrat from New York, introduced HR 163 in January 2003. I’ve frequently heard it said that reinstating the draft was the work of nefarious Republicans. Wrong! Along with Representative Rangel, five other Democrats joined in putting forth this bill before the House of Representatives. Please take note that the vote was 402 – 2. Let’s assume that these six men all voted on this bill that they put forth. Let’s further assume that two of them were the two votes for the passage of the bill. This means four of them voted against it, or else they did not vote at all, which is cowardly at worst, and irresponsible at best (there are 440 members in the House of Representatives).

Do we need a draft? No. As I shared with the lady who was so concerned about her son being drafted, our all volunteer military is doing just fine. Recruitment numbers continue to remain very promising, and military personnel are motivated by the actions our nation is taking to protect America from further terrorist attack, as well as liberating folks from despotic thugs.

Freedom is on the move, my friends. And for that, you can thank our military. An All Volunteer military.

God bless America!

Frogs and Other Tough Questions

Art Linkletter probably said it best: “Kids say the darndest things!”

As the father of two daughters, there were times when I found myself challenged more by the questions of my beauties than by the propositions professorially propounded by erudite multi-degreed Doctors of Letters.

I can’t swear to it, but I believe my oldest daughter, Laura, began her questioning about the time when she was rudely awakened to the horrifying truth that her daddy could not fix everything! Laura, my wife, and I were in the master bedroom one day when Laura was about eighteen months old. My wife was grumbling about a run in her stocking when Laura boldly announced, “Daddy fix it!” I stood there as though nailed to the floor, sheepishly realizing the enormity of the moment: My daughter was receiving her first lesson in “The Fallibility of Parents.” Every parent faces this moment, and, to say the least, it is agonizing. I noticed after this that my daughter would temper her confidence in my abilities by saying, “Daddy fix it! Right?” Thus the questioning began.

Then there was the time I was approached by my little idolizer, whereupon she presented me with a balloon that did not even have the decency to just lose air. Instead, it had burst into many pieces. She said nothing, but as she offered the pieces to me her facial expression said, “I’ll give you another chance. Can you fix this?” I could see I was falling from my lofty perch in her eyes. To say, “I can’t fix mommy’s stocking, or your pretty balloon,” while looking into those trusting, believing eyes was devastating.

While we were stationed in Guam in the mid ‘80s, my wife told me of an incident with our youngest, Jenny. I was deployed on a ship for months at a time so was not there to enjoy this special moment. Jenny was a precocious five year old who loved geckos, lizards, frogs, and hermit crabs, all of which were in abundance in Guam. She came running into the house with a look of such urgency that my wife immediately gave Jenny her full attention. “Mommy,” Jenny asked, “Do frogs yawn?” To her credit, my wife maintained her composure long enough to answer, “Sure they do,” not knowing whether they do or not. Jenny, thus satisfied with the answer, raced back outside with this newly acquired knowledge. My wife, on the other hand, laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Honestly, friends, have you ever seen a frog yawn?

Then there came the day when my wife violated the cardinal rule, “What to do when your child asks tough questions.” One thing for certain is you do not pass the buck. Now, here’s the scene: my wife is sitting at her desk working on the family budget while Jenny is contentedly playing with her dolls on the couch. Ah! But who can know what debilitating questions lurk in the mind of a five year old? Jenny’s small voice pierced this pastoral setting. “Mommy, if God made everything, then who made God?” Near panic best describes my wife’s broken reverie. She could have correctly replied, “No one made God, Jenny. He’s always been here.” Of course, had she given this answer she would have had to field a series of questions on this, like, “Where did God come from?” and “Does God have a mom and dad?” To have bravely answered these questions in a mature manner would have been the right and responsible thing to do. Did my wife do this? No. She panicked. She committed the unpardonable. She violated the cardinal rule. She opted to pass the buck. She said, “Ask your father.”

Now, you would think that this would be a simple enough matter for an ordained minister with a Master of Divinity degree, a Doctorate in Counseling (More than twenty years of schooling – and I’m not done!) a student of the Bible spending countless hours over jots and tittles, the truth is, a question like this still remains a mystery to even the greatest of scholars and deepest of thinkers.

When it is all said and done, tough questions about God and faith often leave us stupefied. Sure, I can present solid biblical answers with deep theologically deduced answers to the tough questions. But in the final analysis, my faith is in God and what he has chosen to reveal about himself, particularly through the Scriptures.

Then some day, I’ll get to ask God the really tough question: “Do frogs really yawn?”

The Last Laugh

What a special weekend we just experienced!

To be watching the news events of the election in Iraq absolutely lifted my spirits, bringing me nearly to tears as I took in the jubilation of these long-oppressed people. Can you ever forget the ink-stained finger being lifted in victory, and in defiance of the terrorists’ threats and intimidation? Or the dancing at the polling centers, whether in Baghdad or Detroit? If these scenes did not warm your heart, check your pulse!

I have recently been thinking about one Iraqi man I met in Babylon nearly two years ago. He was probably in his seventies, so he would remember the last time elections were held in his country. How I would like to sit with him over a cup of their strong Arabic coffee and have him share his thoughts about this historic event. He had asked me then, in 2003, that our forces not leave Iraq before his people had the opportunity to establish themselves as a democracy. I’m so glad our nation has stayed the course, despite the criticism and rancor from certain quarters.

Many of our military personnel have been asked to express their views on the election. These American patriots have expressed in glowing terms, the pride in being a part of this historic moment in the history of Iraq. Even news people openly opposed to the war in Iraq were stunned that the injured military personnel they interviewed at military hospitals, to a man, said it was worth losing a limb, an eye, or physical mobility if it meant the Iraqi people could be free.

It’s important to take notice what has been happening around the world in the last few years. First, after the Afghanis were liberated from the oppressive regime of the Taliban and gained their independence, they held free elections. Second, since the fall of the Soviet Union, we have seen a significant number of the former satellite countries embrace the democratic process, not the least of which is the Ukraine. They only recently held popular elections to choose their own president. Third, there was the death of Palestinian leader Yassar Arafat a few months ago. Now we see free elections taking place there. And now, Iraq.

People long to be free. Free to engage in the expression of ideas and free debate; free to enjoy an opportunity to engage in free enterprise; free to live free from tyranny and oppression; and free to pursue the vocation of their own choosing.

Freedom is contagious. What is happening in these countries may well take on a life of its own, spreading across borders to places like Syria, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the beyond.

Remember when we first entered Vietnam? Our country believed, as did the rest of the world, that Communism was spreading around the globe, particularly in Asia. It was referred to as the “Domino Theory.” It may be a bit premature, but I am very hopeful that we may be seeing a reverse Domino Theory, only this time it is democracy that is running around the globe.

Regardless of your political views, yesterday should have put a smile on all freedom-loving people’s faces. In fact, did you see the story of the little girl in the mid-West who has started a campaign of solidarity with the Iraqi people by dipping her finger in indelible ink? She’s encouraging all her friends and the adults in her life, to join in. Even kids know the importance of freedom.

I’m loving this! In fact, I’m going to dip one of my fingers in ink. It’s a way to rejoice with the free people of Iraq. It may seem silly, I suppose. After all, who would have thought two years ago that Iraq would be holding legal, democratic elections?

I find it all delightfully amusing. The free Iraqis have the last laugh.