Good morning church family,

“Did you know your license is suspended?” the officer asked using a tone so cool and conversational, he might as well have been asking me if I knew that my shoe was untied.

“No. I mean. . . I don’t know.” The officer was standing just a little behind where I was sitting behind the wheel so that I had to crane my neck to look at him. Attempting to look in his eyes, all I could see was my sad reflection in his jet-black sunglasses.

“Why don’t you shut the car off – okay boss?” the officer said; peering into the car. “Stay inside the vehicle. I’ll be right back.”

I turned the engine off and threw the keys in the cupholder. The hot, muggy Florida air came pouring into the car. Beads of sweat immediately began forming along my hairline and at the back of my neck. In the rearview mirror, I could see the officer sitting in his patrol car typing on his onboard laptop. The strobing blue lights and the glare of the sun made it hard to make out any expression on his face. “I’m cooked,” I whispered to the cars zooming past me on the freeway.

“Okay, Mr. Boberick,” the officer said with a foreboding sigh as he approached my drivers-side window again, “I’m writing you three citations today. One for the speed, of course. It’s a $281 ticket. Twenty-two over is way too fast out here. You gotta slow it down.” I craned my neck again to try and look at the officer as he spoke to me. He was gently slapping the packet of citations into his open hand. “I’m also citing you for not showing me proof of insurance and for driving with a suspended license. Now, I’m. . .”

“Like I said,” I interrupted, while trying to shift my weight in the seat to better face the officer, “I’ve got insurance. I tried to pull it up on my phone but I don’t get enough service here.”

“You can offer proof of insurance to the court and they will likely reduce the fine. Now, like I was. . .”

“To the court?” I said; frustration welling up in me. “I’m going to have to go to court over all this?”

The officer drew his hands together in front of his belt buckle, the pink citations clutched tight against his uniform. His eyes were looking straight ahead and down the freeway. I could hear his toe tapping on the gravel in the shoulder. I let out a frustrated sigh and fell silent. The officer then continued: “Are you finished talking, Mr. Boberick?”

Shaking my head, I shifted my weight back toward the front of the car and slammed my hands on the steering wheel.

“Okay. Now, Mr. Boberick, I’m seizing your license today. You’re not going to be able to drive until you clear everything up with the DMV. Now, I’m cutting you a break, okay? This is a misdemeanor but I’m not going to arrest you. But, given your record and driving history, I have called a tow truck.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, sweat now pouring down my face and dripping off my nose, “there’s no one I could call to come get it anyway.”

“Well, here are your citations, sir,” the officer said, reaching forward with the tickets. “All the information is in the packet. Please gather up any personal effects you may want and arrange for someone to come and pick you up.”

As the officer returned to sit in his air-conditioned car and wait for the tow truck, I looked blankly out the windshield. Truth was, the only person I might be able to call to come pick me up was my work but they’d just as soon fire me as give me a ride; being late again for my shift was why I was speeding in the first place. My mom and dad live only a few miles away but there was no way I could call them either. Ever since my dishonorable discharge up in North Carolina and all my trouble with Meghan and the baby and everything, they made it pretty clear not to come around begging for anything.

“D—-t!” I yelled; slamming the steering wheel with my open hand and accidentally causing the car horn to chirp. I shot a look into the rearview mirror and saw the officer’s sunglasses staring sternly back at me. I raised my right hand and waved for him to disregard and he gratefully returned to his computer screen.

“I don’t think there’s any kind of bag in here,” I said; muttering to myself. I looked over my shoulder and into the back seat but didn’t see anything but a bunch of take-out trash and a sweatshirt. I popped the trunk and got out of the car.

The only bag I could find anywhere in the car was a plastic grocery bag that was holding a bunch of straps and tie-downs. I dumped the straps into the trunk and started filling the bag with whatever valuables I could find. I fished all the coins out of the cup holders, collected a couple of random gift cards out of the center console, and grabbed my Garmin out of the glove box. I didn’t need the GPS device but I thought I might be able to sell it. There really wasn’t much else of value in the car. I stood in the shade of the popped trunk and started taking my house keys off the ring. Feeding the last ring around the loop, my eye spied a couple of DVDs in the back of the trunk. With plenty of room in the grocery bag, I reached for the videos to take them with me. But upon lifting them out, another thing caught my eye. There, as crisp and clean as the day it was issued to me, was my Navy New Testament. Seeing it there on the floor of the trunk, the heat’s ringing and all the buzz and busyness of the freeway seemed muted it for a moment. I tossed the DVDs back down and picked up the Bible. I didn’t remember packing it when I left Fayetteville, but something encouraged me to take it with me.

I set down the grocery bag and took the bible in both hands. Opening the front cover, I was surprised to see a personal note written there. The note was signed by one of the chaplains on base; a Captain Starnes. I couldn’t remember ever meeting this particular chaplain but I had a vague recollection of him addressing my battalion from time to time. The note was neatly written in cursive and said: “This book is more important than your helmet, boots, rations, or gun. Guard it best by stowing it in your heart and mind. I’m praying for you.” And then under his name, he wrote what must have been a reference to a Bible verse of some kind. It simply said, “1Peter 5:6-7 – page 288”.

I flipped through the pages of the book and found the passage Captain Starnes had noted for me. The eagerness I felt in my heart took me by surprise. “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God,” it began, “so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” I read and reread the passage. There was something about what was being said in it; offering hope, truth, and a way out for me.

I placed the Bible in the grocery bag and shut the trunk. Walking back up to the front of the car, I tossed the car keys onto the front seat. Looking back at the officer, I noticed I had his attention. We exchanged thumbs-ups and I mouthed, “Thank you.”

I turned and began walking down the freeway. I saw an off-ramp just over the rise.

We’re looking forward to gathering together tomorrow morning to worship the King, share in the fellowship of the redeemed, and have a couple logs thrown on the fire of our faith! It’s going to be a blessed time for the Lord has prepared the blessing. May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate

Good morning church family,

“It is easier to fight for one’s principles than to live up to them.” -Alfred Adler

In the span of just a few hours, Simon Peter’s actions and behavior in the runup to Christ’s arrest and crucifixion would be so schizophrenic so as to leave us scratching our heads; wondering what kind of man this disciple truly was. Of course, some of this is quite understandable. This was, after all, a very turbulent, emotional, and trying time in Peter’s life. For three years, he had abandoned his life, home, and profession to serve in Jesus’s inner circle; watching the Rabbi he loved rise from relative obscurity to dizzying heights of power and prominence. That cruising altitude was not to be maintained, however, and Peter would struggle for some time with Jesus’s precipitous fall from grace and favor; seeing his savior and friend become an enemy of the State, a target of the religious establishment, and finally a disappointment to the Jewish people. But even so, how could Peter be so drowsily indifferent to Jesus’s call to prayer one minute and then wide awake the next; brandishing a knife in order to take on a whole detachment of Roman soldiers? How could he solemnly swear a dying allegiance to Jesus at supper and then, just a few hours later, deny three times even knowing the Man? How could he be so outspoken one day and then the next, be ducking into the shadows to weep bitter tears of confusion? It makes for hard reading but I’m so very glad for the testimony.

Peter was certainly someone who found it easier to fight for what he believed in than to simply live it. I think he would have been far more comfortable coming down out of the hills to lead an insurrection than he would have to lead a Bible study. I think he would have much preferred clearing out the Temple in Jerusalem to clearing out the temple in his own heart. And Peter often seemed more interested in killing wolves than seeing them transformed into sheep.

The killing of Charlie Kirk has revealed a surprising amount of crusader energy residing in the hearts and minds of Christians around the world. Charlie Kirk was well-known for calling believers to be bold and courageous in the defense of the Faith and in support of state, local, and national initiatives that would apply a biblical worldview to law and government. All across the nation, believers have been making emotional appeals to the rest of the church; imploring them to take up the flag that Mr. Kirk carried and march on. “Fight!” they cry out with fiery eyes and jaws firmly-set. “Let us proclaim the truth and be unafraid of the consequences!”

Now, in a general sense, I certainly agree with this sentiment. I’ve often fellowshipped with Martin Luther in his statement: “Peace if possible; but truth at any rate.” As one of the many watchmen that God has stationed to stand sentry on the walls of His Kingdom, may the Lord’s judgement come swiftly upon my head if I’m ever found to be sitting on my trumpet when I should instead be standing to blow it. I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Jesus Christ nor am I averse to fighting to defend it. I have already laid down my life and placed my all in the hands of the One who ordained me. But I must say; before I would join any formation and set out on any march – I would want to be absolutely sure that Jesus, Himself, was out front leading the charge. I would also want to know what all this “fighting” would look like.

In Matthew 10 we read about the time when Jesus assigned a practicum of sorts to his students, the disciples. He is sending them out in pairs to do some proclaiming, testifying, and ministering. It’s a fascinating account. But something Jesus says to these men should be very interesting and instructive to those of us who are His disciples today: “Behold,” He says to the twelve, “I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be shrewd as serpents and gentle as doves.”

First of all, Jesus acknowledges the predatory nature of the nonbelieving public. The people the disciples were going to be witnessing to – the Joe Blows, law enforcement, religious leaders, and gray-hairs at the gate – they were, many of them, wolves. Wolves, as you know, are carnivorous hunters who are always in search of prey – working together to corner, kill, and consume what they may. If this characterization was indeed how Jesus saw the nonbelievers living in Judea, one might think that Jesus would outfit His insurgent disciples with weapons sufficient to defend themselves. You’d think that Jesus would, at the very least, give them some kind of basic training in the arts of war and conflict. To go head-to-head with wolves, you’d imagine Jesus might toughen up his disciples a little; turning them into wolves themselves. But no – Jesus would send these men into the midst of these wolves as sheep. Jesus wanted the agents of His salvation to be witnesses and not conquerors. He wanted the message of the gospel to be unmanipulated by the tip of a sword, unsophisticated by honey on the tongue, and unclouded by silver coins slipped into palms.

Secondly, Jesus continues to make use of simile by charging his disciples to adopt the self-preserving practicality of snakes and the winsome innocence of doves. In so doing, Jesus sheds considerable light on the posture we’re expected to keep as His representatives in a fallen and often hostile world. Serpents, as we all know, are almost universally hated and are therefore always in danger of having their heads chopped off by shovel blades, blown off by buck shot, or crushed by boot heels. Serpents must be shrewd creatures; taking care that their lives not be lost prematurely due to careless indifference or apathy. The Christian must always be alert; careful to wear every piece of the Apostle Paul’s panoply. The Christian can never take a vacation from being a Christian! But yet again, while we are sobered by calls to be shrewd in this predatory environment we live in, we are called to maintain a posture of meekness. Jesus wants us to also be gentle as doves. Doves are one of the few birds that will allow you to draw near to them without them feeling like they need to flitter away. Sitting on a park bench, a dove may hop up and sit next to you for a spell. Waiting on a street corner for the signal to change, a dove may carry on a cooing conversation with you at your feet. Walking a country lane, a pair of doves may waddle out of the woods and stroll with you for a bit. Doves are kind, mild-mannered, unassuming creatures that are welcome and welcoming in almost every environment. It’s this dovelike bearing that Jesus wants for us to exhibit as we make our way in this world as His witnesses. I know that to many, having doves carry the flag as we march into battle seems like weakness. And perhaps it is. But, as Paul remarked, power is perfected in weakness.

I understand the reflexive impulse many of us are having to make fists right now. I get it if you think now’s the time for the Church to take its turn with the pitchforks and torches; putting on brass knuckles and drawing up a smashmouth offense. I understood when Peter drew a knife in Gethsemane and cut off Malchus’s ear and I understood when James and John asked Jesus to authorize a bombing raid on the Samaritan village that disrespected them. I’ve certainly had a volcanic hatred erupt in my heart over the years. But I’m so glad that Jesus healed that poor soldier’s ear and I’m glad for Christ’s rebuke; telling James, John, and me that I didn’t know what spirit I was of. I’m forever grateful that Jesus didn’t come to destroy men’s lives but to save them.

I know that, for some of you, this writing of mine may seem too milquetoast for the moment. In our passion and conviction, we’d prefer the sort of red meat rhetoric that would nourish our anger. But what Jesus has taught me over the many years that I’ve walked with Him is that the best way to fight for our Christian principles is to simply live them out. For the Lord to call us to righteousness and holiness is to invite us to be armed with the most powerful weapons of our warfare. To call us to be meek is to win for us the inheritance of much more than just D.C., Main Street, or Hollywood – but rather the entire earth. But so much more than all of that – to be lambs in the fight means we are not alone but have the Good Shepherd fighting with us.

We’re looking forward to gathering together tomorrow morning to conference with Heaven about the week that’s been and the week that will be. It will be oh so good to sing and shout “Amen!” and to offer our hallelujahs to the One who has rescued us from sin and ourselves. There’s so much to look forward to! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate