The Seattle skyline in the summer with the Olympic Mountains in the background
I like to simmer in the summer, tan my body, cool my jets, grill my burgers on the barbie till they’re done. I love dressing down for worship and then gearing up for golf. I enjoy the beach and surfing in the sun.
Summer takes me to my sweet spot. It’s my favorite time of year. Light that lingers in the evening, rain or shine. It’s a season when I’m mindful of how laid back life can be giving in to what I’ve put off taking time.
In addition to each week’s post on this website, Greg Asimakoupoulos offers daily video devotionals on his YouTube channel. Here is a sample video. If you are interested in receiving these devotionals Monday through Friday, you can subscribe to My Rhymes and Reasons on YouTube.
Pastor John F. Mac Arthur, Jr. as a young preacher
Grace to you and grace to me. It’s only grace that sets us free from failed attempts to earn God’s love and the shame from wrong we’ve done.
And thanks to you, dear Pastor John, it’s the Son of God we’re counting on to guarantee our hope in death. Your teaching made that clear.
You helped us know the Father’s face is only seen in Christ’s embrace. And as you now behold that Face, I’m grateful. “Grace to you!”
I was first introduced to “Pastor John” when he was the guest speaker on his father’s television program “The Voice of Calvary” that my dad and I watched on Sundays when I was a boy.
As a pastor’s kid, I was impressed with this father-son duo. “Johnny” (as his father Jack called him) resembled his dad physically as well as in his mannerisms and preaching style. At the time young “Johnny” MacArthur was in seminary.
Because our family lived in the Pacific Northwest, I made note of the fact that the older MacArthur moved to Eugene, Oregon after pastoring in Southern California for several decades. He was a near neighbor! Well, kind of.
The year Wendy and I became engaged, she was working at Trinity Western University in Langley, B.C. The pastor of the local Evangelical Free Church was a sixty-nine-year-old Jack MacArthur. Pastor Jack truly was a near neighbor to Wendy.
“Johnny” would later out-distance his father in prominence through his megachurch in the San Fernando Valley (Grace Community Church), the Master’s College and Seminary (that he founded) and his daily radio program “Grace to You!”
Although I took issue with some of Pastor John’s theological perspectives and often found him less-positive in his delivery (compared to his upbeat radio ministry counterpart Pastor Chuck Swindoll), I salute his lasting contribution to the Kingdom of God. Peace to his memory!
In addition to each week’s post on this website, Greg Asimakoupoulos offers daily video devotionals on his YouTube channel. Here is a sample video. If you are interested in receiving these devotionals Monday through Friday, you can subscribe on Greg’s channel.
Jimmy Swaggart was a first cousin of both Jerry Lee Lewis and Mickey Gilley
Jimmy had a certain swagger. When he preached, hell’s fires blazed. Still, he had a fleshly thorn that took him down. A flawed and broken spokesman for the Savior he adored, Jimmy’s demons took him hostage, held him bound.
All the same, I loved his music. From the time I was quite young, I would watch the gifted preacher on TV. Jimmy’s skill on the piano (like his cousin Jerry Lee) entertained his mega-church as well as me.
And when wealth and fame and ego found the preacher on the ropes, his weakness was exposed. The preacher fell. Then, ashamed and most repentant, he confessed his need of grace. And what happened next we know so very well.
Who are we to judge his failures? Let the sinless throw their stones. As his family grieves his death, I ponder grace. None of us deserves God’s mercy. We, like Jimmy, stand condemned. But whoever seeks God’s face finds His embrace.
Peace to his memory!
Here is one of Jimmy’s final performances at his church.
A photo of Mount Rainier with blue skies and green meadows
The purple mountain majesties and snow-white Mt. Rainier remind me of what’s grand to me and you. There’s Red Rocks Park and Yellowstone. Mt. Rushmore’s hills are black. And add to that our flag’s red, white and blue.
I recently came across this little rhyme that I penned in my journal a decade ago while pondering our nation’s birthday. At the time it dawned on me that America is not only beautiful. It is also colorful.
To the aforementioned American communities of color, I can add places like Green Lake, Wisconsin, Brownsville, Texas, Silver Springs, Maryland, Goldendale, Washington and Orange, California. But the colorful names of towns are not the only hues that account for what make our nation a thing of beauty. It’s the people!
Just take a close-up look at who we are. We are a polychromatic portrait of humanity. Our ancestors are from Asia, Africa, Europe, North, Central and South America, the Near East and the Far East. And as such, the face of America is a complexion of complexity. We are a cornucopia of cultures and traditions.
My paternal grandfather came to the USA from a rural village in Greece. He was perpetually suntanned. Before arriving on Ellis Island my maternal grandfather hailed from the fjord land of Norway. He was as pale as the white flour used to make his beloved potato lefsa. My Canadian-born wife grew up among darker-skinned schoolmates in Mexico.
When my wife became a U.S. citizen twenty-five years ago, the swearing-in ceremony was a beautiful thing to behold. It felt like I was in the United Nations General Assembly. Those who stood before the judge to take the oath of citizenship were from all over the globe. The judge, by his own admission, was foreign-born. It was a three-dimensional picture of that phrase inscribed on our money. E Pluribus Unum. Out of many, one.
But that experience in a Chicago courtroom in 2000 was not an isolated one. The congregations I have served over the past half-century were part of a denomination with roots in Sweden but comprised of people whose relatives were found in most every continent. Potluck dinners were a potpourri of fascinating taste sensations. Stories of faith journeys shared in our newcomers classes were like individual shards of colored glass in a stained-glass window. I realized how the diversity of our growing church was a picture of the Kingdom of God globally.
There was a song we sang as kids in Sunday school that celebrated the multi-ethnic nature of the community of faith. Maybe you sang it, too. “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red, brown, yellow, black and white. They’re all precious in His sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.” At first blush it wasn’t all that theologically profound. But when you stop and think about it, those lyrics are incredibly significant.
All persons are created in the image of our Creator. As such every human life has worth and is deserving of dignity and respect. Each has a story and a context deserving to be heard and appreciated. Each brings a distinct flavor to Uncle Sam’s birthday picnic that is needed.
This year, as we grill those brown brats and cut green watermelons into red slices, I invite you to savor the beauty of being part of a community and nation that is comprised of an ethnic tapestry of colors and cultures that makes us the unique and wonderful corner of the globe we love.
In addition to each week’s post on this website, Greg Asimakoupoulos offers daily video devotionals on his YouTube channel. Here is a sample video. If you are interested in receiving these devotionals Monday through Friday, you can subscribe on Greg’s channel.
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