Good morning church family,

For the first few months after graduation, Cam went to church because he wanted to. Then he went for a while because he felt he had to. But now, for the last couple weeks, he’d only gone to worship because of the Find My Friends app on his phone.

Cam Jamison grew up in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon; the son of punk rock parents who gloried in Cam’s innocent adoption of anarchy. Featured prominently on their living room wall was a framed photo of a seven-year-old Cam wearing sunglasses and a Sex Pistols t-shirt, hands in goat horns thrust above his head, and mugging his best Johnny Rotten impersonation. Back then, he loved the laughter and applause his antics would receive. He especially adored the pride he’d see in his parents’ eyes. And so, his clothes were always kind of grungy, his speech salty, his growing up early, and his discipline paltry. By the time he finished high school and was preparing to head off to Arizona State University, Cam was no longer the cute little kid aping a rock god, but had become a man-child monster who partied beyond his means, bounced lustily from bed to bed, drugged and drank enough to begin attracting the attention of local law enforcement, and lived as though tomorrow’s only promise was the offer of another night to waste.

Cam’s first year-and-a-half at college were a disaster. His lack of self-discipline coupled with the consequence-free culture that existed all over the sprawling Sun Devil campus, created a force for the kind of riotous living that lands a person either in jail, the morgue, or on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine. So, over the Christmas break of his sophomore year, Cam’s folks attempted their first bit of parenting. Having received letters from the offices of both the Academic Dean and the Dean of Students, they had to warn Cam that as much as they loved him and wanted him to pursue his own path in life, they couldn’t afford to throw tens-of-thousands of dollars away each semester and the University couldn’t afford very much longer to let them, given Cam’s wild and reckless behavior. So, they encouraged Cam to either withdraw and move home or buckle down enough to keep it between the ditches back in Tempe.

Though he didn’t let on at all, Cam was glad for the check. Even though he’d never in his life partied more than he did at college; he’d never enjoyed it less. Feeling more and more unmoored from anything that could anchor his life and keep it from being dashed against the real world’s rocky shore, Cam had grown frightened and anxious. Having the opportunity to go back to school with the prospect of finding some meaning in an academic pursuit gave him just enough hope to make some necessary changes.

During his three wasted semesters, Cam had dug a pretty big hole for himself to climb out of. But he was committed to trying. For the first time in his life, he applied himself to something. And he liked it. Cam’s reforms won him a whole new set of friends. And his first attempts at reading and thinking won him a whole new set of perspectives. The more he studied, the more he wanted to know. His class schedule only boasted a number of Gen-Ed courses; Introduction to Psychology, World History, Physical Science, and the like; but each opened up for Cam a whole new world of interest and understanding. His studies also had him tramping through some of the more metaphysical fields of inquiry; gaining him entry into Heaven’s zip code for the very first time.

Cam first met Derek in his dorm’s laundry room. They were both sitting around waiting for their dryer loads to dry and scrolling on their phones, when Derek spied Cam’s box of dryer sheets and made a lighthearted dig.

“Really going for that spring-fresh scent, huh?” Derek said; barely looking up from his phone and nodding at the little box in Cam’s laundry basket.

“Shut up,” Cam wryly replied. “I stole them.”

From that moment on, the two were fast friends. Derek, who was from San Diego, had recently made a commitment to Christ after running with the devil for most of his life. He was brand new to his faith but everything was real enough to compel him to share what he had with others. It wasn’t long after Derek had given Cam a copy of C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity and invited him to his Bible study group on campus, that Cam became a fixture at all the meetings. It took a few semesters, but in the fall of his senior year, Cam also accepted Christ and was baptized by Derek in the school’s aquatic center with the rest of the Bible study group standing on the deck and clapping. It had been the very best day of Cam’s life.

Cam and Derek’s bond of friendship proved unusually strong. As they were pursuing the Lord and working out their salvation; the encouragement, support, and accountability they received from each other was a love unlike any either had known before. And they desperately needed it. Years of fleshly living had left lots of leverage points in Cam and Derek’s hearts and minds; leaving perfect places for the world to stick its crowbar of sin and selfishness and work to pry the young men away from God. But both of them recognized this and spent lots of time praying and reading the Bible together, going to different churches throughout the city, and even trying their hand at a little campus evangelism. That senior year was a wonderful time in each of their lives.

But graduation was coming. Derek was heading back to Southern California and Cam had already accepted a position back home in Oregon; working at the company his mom had been with for over twenty years. The bond that kept each other tightly tied to Christ was going to be significantly weakened.

“I’ve got an idea,” Derek said to Cam as they drove to church on their last Sunday in Tempe. “Let’s add each other on our phones and check up on each other once we’re back home?”

“What do you mean?” Cam casually replied. “You talking about like on ‘Find a Friends’ or whatever?”

“Yeah – that way we can watch each other on Sunday mornings and see that we’re getting out to worship. And maybe check in on Saturday nights as well,” Derek said while looking over at Cam and flashing a knowing smile.

“Yeah, okay,” Cam said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I know what you mean. I guess we can’t help drifting a little once we’re a thousand miles away from each other. Yeah, I’m down.”

Well, by the autumn of that year, Cam was regretting this arrangement. The wheels of his wagon had begun finding the old ruts again and, while he was much reformed from his high school days, he had also ceased bearing much resemblance to Jesus. His speech was more barbed than it had been, his entertainments more risky, and his thoughts far more base. He replaced reading with drinking, prayer with noise, and growth with escape. But he still went to church most every Sunday – mainly because of the app on his phone and the knowledge that Derek was watching.

Cam had several times thought about turning off the location device or of deleting the app altogether but he hadn’t yet been able to do it. So, despite being groggy and a little hungover on the last Sunday in October, Cam got dressed and dragged his bones to a little Bible church a couple blocks from his house. He’d never gone to this particular church before. It had always looked far too small and traditional for him. But on this particular Sunday, he didn’t think his head could take the loud music and big energy of the megachurch he normally attended.

The service had already started when Cam came in; but God met him at the door. About thirty souls were scattered across twice as many pews in a plain but well-maintained sanctuary. An usher had handed him a bulletin. Sitting down near the back and looking over the program, the title of the preacher’s sermon caught his attention: No App for That. Reflecting on the title, Cam felt his head clearing and could sense the coals in his ashen heart being stirred to life again.

There’s something in every sermon for everybody but some sermons seem positively personal. For years after that Sunday’s sermon and in countless tellings of his testimony, Cam would share how the preacher’s message on the believer’s need to have the Holy Spirit as friend and accountability partner, would light a fire of joy and faith that continued, years later, to burn just as brightly. “I went into that little church,” Cam would say, “with an app-based faith and my only lifeline living a thousand miles away. But, hallelujah! I left that blessed building with a Spirit-based faith and the Lord Himself living right there inside of me. I found my friend!”

We’re looking forward to gathering together in the morning to share in all the Lord is doing in His Kingdom during these profound days. I sincerely pray that as we come to both give and receive, that the Lord will open His mind and heart to us in wonderful ways. I also pray that, in that moment, our hearts and minds will align with His! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate

Good morning church family,

Bradley was a good little bear. Well, come to think of it, he wasn’t all that good. And he was no longer very little. But he was a bear.

Bradley got his start in Vermont. A tall pine had fallen half-over; getting hung up on a craggy cliff. The tree’s broad root ball had lifted only a few feet off the mossy forest floor; creating a lovely, little earthen den beneath. Not long after Thanksgiving a year or so back, Bradley’s mommy, sleek from fall’s feasting and carrying little Bradley in her womb, was wandering around looking for a good spot to sleep the winter away when she crawled in under the tree and tucked herself in for the season.

Bradley was born in a February snowstorm. Some of his earliest memories were of snuggling with his snoring mama. As Bradley nursed, a dim light would filter into the den through the snow mounded up by the entrance. Suckling contentedly, he’d study the odd root formations overhead. Try as he might, he couldn’t make sense of any of it and his curiosity often kept him awake long after his mama had fallen back to sleep.

Bradley’s first spring and summer were filled with fun and adventure. The Green Mountains had never seen such frolic in one of its resident cubs. Bradley would leap off little bluffs to bearhug the tops of green saplings. The taut, little tree would bend low for a moment before springing and snapping back straight; throwing the little bear against the hillside. Smiling and shaking his head, Bradley would then tumble down the hill to the little pool in the brook. His eyes darting back and forth, he’d lock in on a trout. Tensing up like a spring-loaded cat, he’d dive headlong into the pool and thrash and splash about; pawing wildly at every watery shadow. Climbing back onto the shore empty-handed, he’d shimmy and shake himself dry only to spy a raspberry bush in the dappled light along the forest’s edge. Barreling out into the open meadow, he’d lie on his back and let the summer sun finish drying his shiny black coat. Sprawled out, Bradley would lazily pull a raspberry branch down to his snout and feast on the warm, plump, juicy berries. He never could have believed that life beyond the snowbound den could have been so wonderful.

There was an early snow that fall and Bradley delighted in the fluffy, slippery, white world it made for him. He dove into snowdrifts, tobogganed down hills on his belly, chewed on the icicles he collected from off of waterfalls in the brook, and, when the snowstorm was over, he’d hang from pine boughs and all his yo-yo-ing would make it snow some more. But Bradley’s mama wasn’t as fond of the falling snow. She started talking about finding some little hole to crawl into for the winter.

“Mama,” Bradley would say; hanging his head and whining, “we ain’t aiming to run and hide away for the winter, are we? There’s still so much to see and do.”

“Honey,” the mama bear replied with a firm voice but an adoring smile, “the good Lord didn’t make us for roaming about during the frozen months. Now’s the time to search out a warm dry den and for eating all we can until then. Don’t worry, little bear, the fields and forest will all be here when we wake back up.”

There were several conversations like this one over the next few weeks. Bradley didn’t like it, but he eventually gave in and followed his mama into a dry and dusty cavity under a large, overhanging rock. As an icy sleet beat against the carpet of dried oak leaves outside, his mama held him tight. Before long, the rhythm of her contented heartbeat lulled him into a deep and abiding slumber. Bradley woke up a number of times that winter and he’d sometimes roll over to the entrance of the cave. He had half a mind to venture out into the snow but, feeling sluggish and drugged, he’d roll back over to his mama’s side and drift back off to sleep.

That next spring and summer proved even more fun for Bradley than his first. He ventured up higher mountains, down into deeper valleys, and across wider plains; all the time exploring and playing. And all the time he was growing bigger and more rebellious too. As much as she tried, Bradley’s mama couldn’t seem to help her son’s wheels find the ruts of the road God had laid out for him. While other bears his age were learning how to hunt and fish, Bradley was taking singing lessons from a jay. While other young bears were busy tussling, sparring, and fighting, Bradley was studying the clouds from the tops of pine trees. While other bears were being bears, Bradley was busy being Bradley.

Later that fall, when the air turned crisp and the sky began spitting snow, Bradley had drifted away from his mama’s side. The separation wasn’t intentional; it had just sorta happened. The last time Bradley would see his mama that year was on an unusually warm day in early November. Bradley’s mama had come upon him as he was lazing under a crabapple tree; feasting heartily on all the drops scattered about him.

“Hey, Mama,” he’d said, raising his head but still lounging on his back. “A little mushy and kinda wormy in parts; but plenty yummy.”

“You ought to eat the ones still on the tree, little bear,” she said with a smile that was still loving but now less adoring. “Say, little bear, have you found a spot to spend the winter in?”

“I’m not a little bear,” Bradley said, sitting up. “And no, I haven’t. I’m not intending on dozing the winter away. I believe I’m going to stay out and enjoy the season.”

“Grrr,” his mama growled. “You oughta find one all the same – in case you end up changing your mind.”

“Okay, Mama – I’ll be sure to stake out a proper den; just in case.”

Well, Indian summers don’t last very long and Bradley’s best intentions were even shorter-lived. November turned to December and the snow soon fell in earnest; piling up on Bradley’s woods in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The sun would come out but it didn’t melt much of the snow. The blowing wind now seemed to be barbed and had a bitter bite to it. The pool in the brook froze fast and his bed under the spruce tree was cold and icy. Bradley remembered his mama’s admonition and began searching for a nice, warm den to take a break in. But it was no use. He only found two suitable places but they were already taken by strangers. Bradley had poked his nose in but had to duck back out to avoiding a swiping paw of bared claws. And the ensuing growl scooted and shooed him away through belly-high snow.

All that month, the snow continued to fall and the temperatures dropped lower and lower. Bradley was getting more and more tired and anxious. He was always wet and cold; hungry and shivery. He wanted more than anything to be able to find his mama and crawl in next to her.

Then one night, as Bradley wandered farther away from his home woods, he saw a peculiar light go on and off across a little clearing. Deciding to investigate, he climbed a cattle fence and trudged through the deep snow. Getting closer to where he’d seen the light, a big gray barn appeared out of the shadows. Walking around it, his nose up and dipping at the air; he determined the building to be full of creatures. He intuited somehow that it had to be warm and dry inside. Having marked where the light came from, he pawed at the base of the barn door. It swung a little but was hung up on something. Bradley was a smart little bear and he somehow knew to lift the latch that stretched from door to frame. The door swung more easily now and Bradley was able to nose his way into the barn.

As you might imagine, Bradley’s entrance into the barn created quite a ruckus. The horses whinnied, neighed, and stamped about. The oxen bellowed loud grunts of disapproval. The pigs squealed, the cows cried, and the barn cats hissed from the rafters. Bradley thought about running away, but it was so nice and dry and warm in there. All Bradley wanted to do was to curl up in a corner and rest a while. As he pushed further into the barn, the farm animals all got louder and more restless. Just as Bradley found an empty pile of sweet-smelling hay and was about to flop down in it, the light came on in the barn.

“Well, I’ll be,” the farmer said; standing in his pajamas and carrying a shotgun. “You sure are a poor, little bear – ain’t you?”

Bradley didn’t like the bright light and would have liked to trundle off into the woods, but the barn wall was at his back. He meekly lowered his head and swung it pathetically back and forth; slowly turning his shoulders this way and that. He would have liked to be able to talk to the farmer but he couldn’t, of course.

“Couldn’t find a spot to winter in, huh?” The farmer’s presence and calm tone had settled down all the barn animals. He advanced a couple more steps toward the bear and kept talking, “I suppose you want to take your sabbath in my barn?”

Bradley’s sad eyes looked up at the farmer from under his lowered head. He had the repentant look of a dog with a muzzle full of quills.

“Well, I don’t mind you lodging here with us for the winter – just so long as you keep the peace and leave in an orderly fashion come spring.” The farmer walked over to an empty calving stall that had been used for storing grain; passing within a couple feet of the wild bear. The farmer held onto his gun and, with his boots, raked a bunch of clean straw into the little box. He also scooped a pile of oats onto the ground for him. “There you go, little guy,” the farmer said; motioning to the spot with the barrel of his gun. “It’s all yours.”

Bradley looked over at the stall and then up at the farmer and back over again. The warmth of the barn and the kindness of the man was having a powerful sedative effect on the bear. With head lowered all the way to the ground, Bradley ambled over to the stall. Walking in, he sniffed at the oats but carried on to the straw. Circling around once or twice, he plopped down and let his heavy head rest on the straw bed.

“Alright you guys,” the farmer said to all the animals in the barn, “don’t pay that bear no mind. He’ll just be a snoring boarder for the next few months. You all go back to bed.” And with that the farmer turned off the light, closed and latched the barn door, and went back to the farmhouse.

As Bradley curled up; tucking his nose under one paw, he listened to the gentle rustling and quiet breathing of the other animals. He could also hear the wind moving through the pines outside; causing the barn to bend and creak. Bradley was so thankful to be in that warm, dry house. He was so thankful to be able to rest and to sleep. His body getting warmer and warmer and his thinking getting thicker and thicker, he meditated for a moment on what the farmer had said about “sabbath”. Hadn’t his mama said the same? Hadn’t she told him that bears were made to take a break?

What a blessing it will be to find our rest tomorrow morning as we gather into God’s house for a time of worship, fellowship, prayer, and reflection. Praise the Lord for Sabbaths of sanctuary! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate