Fine Prints: November, 2005

And a Good Time Was Had by All November 5

Unimpressed  November 12

Labels Left and Right November 19  

Things Aren't Always What They Seem--1  November 26    

Friends Are God's Way of Taking Care of Us November 26

And a Good Time Was Had by All

For those not at last weekend’s Church Retreat, you missed something really great. The weather was perfect. The guest speaker excellent. The food delicious. The early-morning baptism spectacular. And people pitched in to help as they’ve never done before–and they’ve always done well!

The church-office staff did a great job getting things organized. So thanks to them for their unflagging efforts.

But all their efforts would have been wasted had they not been complemented by a herculean performance from a couple of dozen volunteers. It’s no small task to prepare and serve a weekend total of more than one thousand meals. (If you don’t believe me, try it sometime!) And the dining room had to be cleaned after each meal and prepped for the next.

Keeping the bathrooms tidy for such a large group is a major undertaking–which isn’t all that pleasant. In addition, all the camp facilities had to be checked and cleaned both before and after the retreat.

There were lanterns to be filled and pumped. Campfires to be lit and overseen. General security. Recreation personnel. Music and other support for the various programs for different ages. Equipment to be transported.

In short, it took a small army to make it happen–but happen it did! A huge note of appreciation to each person who worked to make it possible. You were great!

That’s the good news. Now just a moment for the bad.

In at least two cases, members of our group were sufficiently belligerent with a park ranger that the ranger reported it to our church staff. In one case, the ranger was so incensed that he got into his truck and came straight to the Youth Camp to let us know what had happened.

Having to listen to such reports is embarrassing. We’ve worked hard over the years to build up a positive relationship with park officials. It takes only a few indiscretions to undo much good. Sometimes, however, even mistakes have their silver linings.

As I was leaving the park, I apologized to the ranger at the gate for one of the unpleasant exchanges that had taken place. I expressed my chagrin over the rudeness, assuring her that we strongly urge responsible use of the park facilities and courteous dealings with park personnel.

"We were discussing that among some the rangers just this morning," she said. "And we decided that the person we had trouble with shouldn’t be a member of Markham Woods Church–because that’s just not how the rest of the group is."

It reminded me of how significant our influence can be–for good or bad.

The ranger who did the final inspection found only one piece of litter left on the grounds. He said we leave the place the cleanest of any group that ever comes–barring none. Despite the two unfortunate verbal altercations, he assured us that the park staff were looking forward to our return next year.

So mark three possible dates on your calendars: October 27-29; November 3-5; November 10-12. We’ll confirm which weekend as soon as we receive confirmation from the park.

Be sure you don’t miss out.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

Unimpressed 

A few years ago I received a call requesting that I conduct the funeral of an Adventist who had come to Florida in a terminal condition and had died before having joined a local congregation.

The woman on the phone–the daughter of the deceased–said she had made a similar request of another Adventist pastor. He’d declined, saying he officiated only at funerals for his own members.

She wasn’t impressed.

Actually, it wasn’t the first time she’d failed to be impressed by the Seventh-day Adventist Church. As she sat in my office working out the details of the service, a laundry list of negative impressions boiled to the surface.

While in her teens, the woman–let’s call her Mary–attended an evangelistic series with her mother. Convinced of the seventh-day Sabbath and the soon coming of Jesus, the two were baptized. Mary’s life suddenly shifted focus. The emphasis–at least as she perceived it–was about what she couldn’t/shouldn’t/wouldn’t do if she was going to be worthy of the name Seventh-day Adventist.

Mary faced a conundrum: She believed certain major Adventist doctrines. But she found Adventism to be a thoroughly negative religion. And she was appalled by the readiness of too many Adventists to denigrate other denominations, especially Roman Catholics.

Despite her mental wrestlings, Mary worked hard so she could attend an Adventist college. And she studied hard to try to overcome her innate discomfort with certain aspects of the Adventist culture. But she never found peace.

When she walked into Bible class one day and heard the teacher casting aspersions on another denomination, it got to her. "I don’t have to put up with this!" Mary said half out loud. And walking straight out of class, she headed to the dorm, packed her bags and left the school.

Her first stop in throwing off the shackles of Adventism was the deli across the street from the college, where she ordered a ham sandwich. The next stop was the theater, where she watched a movie. Then she boarded a train for home and waved bye-bye to the Adventist Church–until the day she came to see me to make her mother’s funeral arrangements.

I apologized for our denomination’s collective flaws, and I took a few moments to assure her that I believe that things have improved over the past 40 years. As proof, I gave her a copy of our Markham Woods Church philosophy brochure and pointed out some of our congregation’s emphases. "I certainly wish that’s how it had been back then," she said wistfully. "Unfortunately, it wasn’t."

The funeral went well. Mary and her husband expressed heartfelt appreciation. But neither have taken me up on my invitation to visit our church.

Admittedly, you and I can’t go back and rewrite Mary’s life. We can’t retrospectively remove the obstacles that tripped her. But we can do something.

We can recognize that we’re surrounded by Marys every day. We bear the name Christian. We bear the name Seventh-day Adventist. People look at us and are either attracted or repelled by what they see.

Would people see our practice of religion as thoroughly negative? Or would they see us enjoying life to the full–living what Jesus called the abundant life?

What kind of religion are we both advocating and modeling?

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

Labels Left and Right 

I’m not particularly fond of the "labels" we often place on our fellow humans. Labels make it too easy for us to dismiss people before they’ve even stated their case. Too often we say things such as, "she’s conservative" or "he’s liberal," which is code for "I won’t really listen because I already know I disagree."

The bigotry cuts both ways.

Let me say before I go any further that I’m primarily talking here about the spiritual/theological spectrum, not secular political thought processes. Granted the business I’m in, the debate over church issues (spiritual politics?) occupies more of my time and captures more of my interest.

After years of observing contention over such matters, it strikes me that a major difference between the spiritual right and the spiritual left—here are those pesky labels again—revolves around how each deals with (1) the "exceptions" to the rule and (2) who makes the decisions. Let me illustrate.

In the debate over divorce and remarriage, for example, conservatives want the church to take a hard line. After all, didn’t Jesus say that nothing short of adultery was adequate reason to leave your spouse and start again? So it’s simple: Why don’t we just follow what He said?

Liberals, on the other hand, point to behaviors so heinous that they at times make adultery seem like mere child’s play by comparison. Liberals are uncomfortable with the idea that a single act of infidelity, irrespective of circumstances and other factors, is considered absolute and automatic justification for divorce and remarriage while incessant physical, verbal or psychological abuse isn’t—even when the abuse has reached life-threatening extremes!

The Seventh-day Adventist Church Manual says that "personal protection may make necessary a change in marital status," but that "separation or divorce which results from factors such as physical violence . . . does not give either [spouse] the scriptural right to remarry . . . ."

The reality is, few conservatives, when pushed, will deny that there are exceptions to the adultery-only rule. Nevertheless, they want the rule written in an ironclad fashion that ignores the exceptions. The exceptions can be dealt with quietly and off to the side by some duly authorized church decision-making body.

Liberals want the rules written in a manner that openly acknowledges the exceptions. Or, at the very least, they want to leave it to the individual to decide if and when exceptions exist and what course to take because of them.

The concern of the conservative is that by acknowledging the exceptions, we’ll soon have no standards. And by letting individuals make such crucial decisions, everyone will soon be doing "what is right in his own eyes," and chaos will reign.

The concern of the liberal is that by not openly acknowledging the need for exceptions, our integrity and credibility suffer. And by keeping crucial decisions from the individual, we’re in danger of returning to the era when the church made all the decisions and people just did as they were told.

Both concerns are legitimate. Which means there needs to be a lot of talking—and listening—if an appropriate balance is to be achieved.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

Things Aren't Always What They Seem--1 

The story that I’m about to tell took place near the turn of the century. No, not the one that arrived five years ago. The one before that. So it’s an old story—yet one that, in principle, is repeated daily.

My great-grandmother, Liz Phillips, ran a unique business: She trained parrots to talk. A large pet store in Chicago periodically sent her two parrots to be schooled in the fine art of human speech. She was allowed to keep—and sell—one parrot. The other was sent back to Chicago, where it would soon find itself in the home of some wealthy parrot aficionado.

In those days of strong belief in the "spare the rod and spoil the child" philosophy, parrots-in-training received the same treatment. Pupils in my great-grandmother’s parrot finishing school would receive a gentle rap on the beak with a table knife if they misbehaved or lost focus. They quickly learned—I don’t know if by instinct or intelligence—that cooperation was the wiser course of action.

Some of them learned, that is.

One rather inquisitive and inventive bird named Pete was a fast learner when it came to mischief and a slow learner when it came to obedience. Through observation, I assume, Pete became fascinated with matches and fire. Before long he had turned into a full-fledged pyromaniac.

When let out of his cage, he would make a beeline for the old wood cook stove and the box of large wood matches that always sat on a nearby ledge. On numerous occasions my great-grandmother caught him red-handed using beak and claw in a feverish attempt to strike a match.

Needless to say, Pete was frequently punished for his bad behavior, which always made him forlorn and downcast. So my grandmother would say to him, "Poor Pete. Poor Pete." And soon he said it to himself whenever things didn’t go his way.

In addition to his pyromania, Pete was a self-taught escape artist. No ordinary cage could hold him. It might take hours, days or weeks, but he would always figure out how any lock mechanism worked. The door to his cage had to be doubly or triply secured, or he would soon have it open.

One day my great-grandmother was in a hurry and failed to adequately secure the cage door of this avian Houdini. When she returned, the house was filled with smoke. It seems that Pete had escaped, gotten some matches, taken them back into his cage and succeeded in striking one.

The newspaper on the bottom of his cage caught on fire, which caught the nearby curtains on fire. It was highly fortunate that the house didn’t burn down—and that Pete’s only injury was his pride and some heavily singed feathers.

When my grandmother returned he was sitting in his cage forlornly intoning, "Poor Pete. Poor Pete."

I guess the moral of the story is that if you play with fire, you get burned. But that wasn’t where I was headed when I started out with this Fine Print. So tune in again next week for the rest of the story.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

Friends Are God's Way of Taking Care of Us 

(This was written by a Hospice of Metro Denver physician.)

I just had one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and wanted to share it with my family and dearest friends:

I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck. It wouldn't even turn over.

Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the "quickie mart" building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay.

When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.

At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.

I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying "I don't want my kids to see me crying," so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now. So I asked, "And you were praying?"

That made her back away from me a little, but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, "He heard you, and He sent me."

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling, walked to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little.

She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City. Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan 1, and finally in desperation had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5 years.

They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there.

So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids

they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there.

I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, "So, are you like an angel or something?"

This definitely made me cry. I said, "Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people."

It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle. And of course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.

Sometimes the angels fly close enough to you that you can hear the flutter of their wings...

Psalms 55:22 "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee.  He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved."