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Fine Prints: December,
2007
Little Man, Big Victory--2 December 1
Saved by the Belle
December 8
Defining Words
December 15
A Word or Two in Defense of Mary December 22
A Parable Re-Enacted
December 29
Little Man, Big Victory--2 Last week I
asked: "Have you ever wanted to have a second go at some life event you
fumbled badly and would desperately like to totally redo?" I went on to
say: "Rarely, ever so rarely, life hands us just such an opportunity.
Let me tell you how it happened for one person a long time ago." Then I
started telling about my diminutive grandfather’s experience in trying
to gain control of a country elementary school where several teachers
had already been run off by unruly students.
Despite my grandfather’s early successes in keeping one step ahead of
his too-old-for-their-grade students, they were determined that he
wasn’t going to make it to the end of the school year unscathed. Worse
still, rumors began to swirl that a number of former students—community
ruffians—were planning to disrupt the end-of-the-school-year program.
My grandfather, who was intimidated even by his students—though he never
let on—knew he was no match for an even older group of ruffians
hell-bent on making mischief. So he sat down and wrote a letter to the
local sheriff, asking him to attend the program.
As he organized the younger children, my grandfather watched furtively
for the sheriff’s arrival. No one appeared who looked like a
law-enforcement officer. But just before the program was to begin, eight
or ten ruffians noisily entered the room and stood along the back wall.
My grandfather’s heart sank.
Not sure what to do, he welcomed everyone, and the program began. A
little girl recited a poem, but the noise from the ruffians nearly
drowned her out. What was my grandfather to do?
Before he could do anything, a stranger of even more diminutive stature
than my grandfather’s 5 feet and 6 inches, slowly got out of his seat
and walked to the front of the room. For a moment he simply surveyed the
audience. Then, fixing his gaze on one of the ruffians at the back, he
pointed at him menacingly, and said—in a voice that was far more
commanding than his size—"You, take off your hat!"
With a "Yes, Sir!" the ruffian complied.
Then the small man said: "This little girl has learned a lovely poem and
has recited it beautifully. But no one heard it. I’m going to ask her to
come back and do it again. And I expect total silence for the rest of
the program. Do you understand?"
Again, from the row of ruffians against the wall came a chorus of "Yes,
Sir!" And the rest of the program proceeded uneventfully. Afterward, the
little man—who turned out to be the sheriff, of course—spoke with my
grandfather.
"You’ll never know how much I appreciate your asking me to be here
tonight," he said. "You see, about twenty-five years ago, I taught in
this very school—until I was run out by the bullying of the older
students. I left as a broken, dispirited man. A abject failure. But your
invitation has allowed me to come back and win a great victory—for me,
at least—in the very spot where I suffered the worst defeat of my life.
"Thanks for giving me that opportunity."
Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
 
Saved by the Belle
In 1986, when I was 34, I became senior editor at Signs Publishing
Company, the Seventh-day Adventist Church’s publishing house for the
South Pacific, based near Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.
Every year our editorial team produced as many pages of finished
product as did the Adventist Review staff, where I’d worked
previously. But we did it for three magazines, with three sets of
deadlines. Plus we functioned as our own marketing department. In
addition, I designed and did the camera-ready paste-up for our 16-page
weekly publication. And we did it all with half the staff of the
Adventist Review.
Needless to say, we were busy.
To ensure that church members got to know me, during my first year as
editor I was a guest speaker at all 11 of the campmeetings in Australia
and New Zealand. Subsequently, I went to four or five campmeetings each
year.
Because of my workload, and because I didn’t like to be away from
home for very long, I tried to make my campmeeting stays short—usually
about 48 hours. But during that time, I told the campmeeting organizers,
"Give me as many speaking engagements as you want."
The record was eight in 24 hours in North New Zealand. I preached to
the adults a couple of times, to the youth, to the literature
evangelists, at the pastors meeting, and to several of the children’s
divisions. Then I caught a plane back to Australia.
I tried to make sure that I meticulously wrote down what sermons I
had preached in each place. But with such a busy program at both the
publishing house and on the road, I slipped up a few times. And one such
slip-up would have proved highly embarrassing, had I not been saved by
the "belle" (you know, a good-looking young woman!).
I had just come straight from the airport to the campmeeting in
Western Australia, where I was to preach first in the adult tent. I had
checked my list of what had been presented where, and was planning to
preach what I thought was my very best sermon—which, according to my
records, had never been used in Western Australia.
The platform party had assembled behind the main tent and were within
five minutes of stepping before the audience when a young woman appeared
and asked, "Is Pastor Coffin here?" Then she proceeded to tell me how
much my sermon the year before had meant to her. I blanched—because it
was the sermon I was planning to preach in a few moments.
"Did I preach on that topic when I was here last year?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she said, providing a few more details. Then she went on
to even more effusively tell me how the sermon had changed her life.
"You’ll never know just how much what you have said has meant to me,"
I said--with great conviction. Then I turned to face the expectant
audience, to whom I preached a sermon—without notes and without
preparation—that, fittingly, was about God’s deliverance of someone who
was in a really tight spot.
The listeners thought it just another Bible story. But for me, it was
personal testimony!
Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
Defining Words
Ambrose Bierce (1842-1913?), a Civil War veteran, a journalist, a world
traveler and an adventurer, wrote with a skill and cutting wit that has
seen few rivals. One of his most memorable works was a tongue-in-cheek
book of definitions, titled Devil's Dictionary. Following is an
A-Z example of his take on life, which contains a lot of truth as well
as good entertainment value.
ABSURDITY, n. A statement or belief manifestly
inconsistent with one's own opinion.
BIGOT, n. One who is obstinately and zealously
attached to an opinion that you do not entertain.
CHRISTIAN, n. One who believes that the New
Testament is a divinely inspired book admirably suited to the spiritual
needs of his neighbor. One who follows the teachings of Christ in so far
as they are not inconsistent with a life of sin.
DICTATOR, n. The chief of a nation that prefers the
pestilence of despotism to the plague of anarchy.
EPITAPH, n. An inscription on a tomb, showing that
virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect.
FASHION, n. A despot whom the wise ridicule and
obey.
GENEROUS, adj. Originally this word meant noble by birth
and was rightly applied to a great multitude of persons. It now means
noble by nature and is taking a bit of a rest.
HADES, n. The lower world; the residence of
departed spirits; the place where the dead live.
IDLENESS, n. A model farm where the devil
experiments with seeds of new sins and promotes the growth of staple
vices.
JEWS-HARP, n. An unmusical instrument, played by
holding it fast with the teeth and trying to brush it away with the
finger.
KINDNESS, n. A brief preface to ten volumes of
exaction.
LABOR, n. One of the processes by which A acquires
property for B.
MARRIAGE, n. The state or condition of a community
consisting of a master, a mistress and two slaves, making in all, two.
NEPOTISM, n. Appointing your grandmother to office for the
good of the party.
OPTIMIST, n. A proponent of the doctrine that black
is white.
PREJUDICE, n. A vagrant opinion without visible
means of support.
QUEEN, n. A woman by whom the realm is ruled when
there is a king, and through whom it is ruled when there is not.
RUMOR, n. A favorite weapon of the assassins of
character.
SAINT, n. A dead sinner revised and edited.
TWICE, adv. Once too often.
UNITARIAN, n. One who denies the divinity of a
Trinitarian.
VIRTUES, n.pl. Certain abstentions.
WOMAN, n. An animal usually living in the vicinity of
Man, and having a rudimentary susceptibility to domestication .
X, Words beginning with X are Grecian and will not be defined in
this standard English dictionary.
YESTERDAY, n. The infancy of youth, the youth of
manhood, the entire past of age.
ZEAL, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the
young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.
Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
A Word or Two in Defense of
Mary Balance is hard to
achieve. Especially in religion.
Rarely are we able to correct an extreme pendulum swing by moving back
to dead center. Rather, we swing too far in the other direction. I’d
suggest that’s what’s happened in the case of Mary, the mother of Jesus.
Clearly, the Roman Catholic Church fell in love with Mary. I mean, they
really fell in love. So much so that at times one might wonder whether
Jesus or Mary is the real Savior of the world.
Protestants derisively refer to Catholic dogma and tradition surrounding
Mary as "Maryolatry"—i.e. a form of idolatry focused on the person and
role of Mary. And Adventists are as outspoken against this imbalance as
any.
In good Protestant fashion, we’ve repudiated the Catholics’
non-scriptural elevation of Christ’s mother. In fact, we’ve been so
effective that we’ve all but removed her from our Who’s Who of Biblical
Heroes. In my nearly four decades of telling stories to Adventist
children, I don’t recall any of them ever telling me that the biblical
hero they want to talk to first when they get to heaven is Mary. Not
even any little girls.
That’s really sad.
While Catholics have certainly taken their adoration of Mary to a
biblically unjustifiable extreme, they at least recognize, based on
solid biblical evidence, that Mary was a true hero, a special person.
In announcing to Mary the role she is to play in Christ’s birth, the
angel says: "’Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with
you’" (Luke 1: 28).
Granted her humble and unpresuming attitude, her response is
understandable: "Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered
what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, ‘Do not
be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God’" (Luke 1: 29, 30).
When Mary goes to see her cousin Elizabeth, her cousin, grasping some
sense the magnitude of the role to which Mary has been called, exclaims:
"’Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!
But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?’"
(Luke 1: 42, 43). Elizabeth clearly considers it an honor even to be in
Mary’s presence.
In response to Elizabeth’s comments, Mary breaks forth in poetic
praise and describes her own feelings about what’s transpiring: "’My
soul glorifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he
has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all
generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great
things for me—holy is his name’" (Luke 1: 46-49).
Mary, who’s but a mere girl, understands that the role to which God has
called her is indeed an awesome responsibility and an amazing privilege.
Thus she isn’t timid in declaring, "From now on all generations will
call me blessed."
Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if in our legitimate and commendable zeal for
correcting Catholicism’s imbalance in unjustifiably elevating Mary’s
role, we as Protestants, and as Adventists, fall into the other ditch
and fail to appreciate what a blessed and heroic human being she really
was?
Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
A Parable Re-Enacted
More than sixty years ago, one
of my uncles, Lane Plummer, participated in a dramatic re-enactment of
Christ's parable of the Good Samaritan. Now don't get me wrong, Uncle
Lane wasn't an actor of the kind who vies for an Oscar. Nor did he ever
appear before audiences to perform live. He didn't even rehearse for the
role he played. But he was in the re-enactment, nonetheless. It happened
like this . . .
The United States Government, well into World War II at
the time, was scouring the country for able-bodied young males to serve
in America's armed forces. Many young men in their late teens or early
twenties didn't wait for the draft. Preferring the Air Force to the
Army, Lane volunteered.
He soon found himself in England . From there he was to
make bombing runs over Germany . It was risky business. Life expectancy
for Allied airmen was short. Many were killed by enemy fire. Many others
were shot down and taken prisoner by the Germans, only to die in prison
camps.
Fate wasn't on Lane's side. Scarcely had he begun making
forays than his plane was shot down. Fortunately, he survived.
Unfortunately, he hit a tree and badly injured his leg.
The flight crews had been told that, if shot down, they
should try to work their way north. Attempting to obey orders, Lane
hobbled along each night, trying to hide during the day. He foraged for
whatever food he could find, without much success. It soon became clear
that his leg wound was badly infected, and he wasn't getting enough to
eat. If he didn't get help soon, there was no hope. If he did seek help,
he would certainly be captured.
Acknowledging to himself what he had to do, he
approached a German woman who was working in her yard at the edge of a
small village. Through gestures and pointing to his leg, he was able to
explain what had happened. It didn't take an expert to see that he was
in deep trouble.
The woman led him into her house, motioning for him to
lie down on a bed. Only moments later there was banging and shouting at
the door. He heard the woman in heated discussion with several men, whom
he guessed were German soldiers. While he could neither see what was
happening nor understand what was being said, he could tell that she was
arguing fiercely with them.
Then the arguing stopped. The door closed. And the woman
returned. Cutting off Lane's pant leg, she cleaned, disinfected and
bandaged his wound. Then, while he slept, she went to the kitchen to
prepare a meal. It was simple fare. But for a man who'd eaten little in
days, it seemed fit for royalty. When Lane was done, she offered a shrug
of regret and resignation. Then she opened the door for the soldiers to
take their prisoner
Had that woman not stood up for an enemy soldier, Uncle
Lane might well not have survived his subsequent prison-camp experience.
And he certainly wouldn't have had such crystal-clear understanding of
how that man on the Jericho road must have felt toward the enemy
Samaritan who rescued him.
Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
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