faith – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

December 5, 2024December 4, 2024

In Pursuit

Although her length and breadth boasts an imposing 1.7 million square miles and hosts a vast mix of ethnicities, each individual inhabitant of the Indian Subcontinent is ‘a story being written’. Through the many years since our meeting, Nuren’s story leaves me smiling and, frankly, in wonder.

When Nuren arrived in Michigan he brought with him a rich heritage of India family and culture. Hearing Nuren recall his grandfather’s role in shaping his life is itself an excursion into a generations-long treasure. While his Hindu upbringing instilled elements that framed some of his worldview, Nuren’s insatiable quest for deeper meaning gave rise to relentless questions.

When a married couple, Amit and Glory – also from India and also student-residents in the Wolverine State – happened to cross paths with Nuren, a bond of friendship began forging. So much so that when the couple moved to Tulsa on a snowy January day for Amit’s further studies, their friend Nuren found every excuse to stay in touch.

Through a host of phone visits and added long drives to Tulsa, Nuren’s questions about the intersection of personal life and the Christian faith were earnestly posed. In a sustained environment of warmth and hospitality, his friends in T-town never wearied of the visits. To the contrary, Amit and Glory continually welcomed their keen-minded, inquisitive friend. Glory’s tasty curries found their way to the simple dining table around which robust questions and the occasional prayer were brought forward.

On a warm Summer day a couple of years after Nuren’s first Tulsa visit, we gathered at the home of veterinary friend Jim Osborn. The water temperature of Jim and Pam’s above ground pool was just right.

While further questions (some not yet thought of) would remain unaddressed for a time, our hungry-for-truth friend Nuren was ready to respond to Jesus’ call, “Come, follow”.

A fresh dry towel appeared. Broad smiles, perhaps a tear or two, touched the faces of several gathered. Glory and Amit beamed. We entered the pool.

“So now, upon the profession of your faith. . in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. . .”

November 28, 2024

In Good Time

He has made everything beautiful in his time.*

From the start, the matchup seemed pre-ordained. Clint and Jackie had hardly met the Zhirs before hearts became knitted together.

Punctuated by periodic dinners together, friendship outings and game nights, the two households grew close. Conversations could cover any range of topics. With, however, one exception.

As devoted Jesus-followers, Clint and Jackie carried their faith walk into all spheres of life. Bringing the topic of spirituality and, particularly references to Jesus, however, gained little ground with their special Far East friends. From the early days of the relationship, the Zhirs politely signaled they had no interest in discussing religion or faith. The American hosts took note, faithfully honoring the couples’ space.

When Mrs. Zhir conceived and began her maiden journey toward motherhood, Jackie (mother of three) expressed delight. She made herself appropriately accessible – fielding anxious questions, conveying practicalities, offering encouragement. The two women – of their diverse histories, cultures and beliefs – grew ever closer in friendship as the months went by. And when baby came, the families celebrated together.

After university, Mr. Zhir found employment and the family moved to their new location. A few years passed.

At a coincidental meeting with our volunteer friends Clint and Jackie (they seemed especially cheery), we learned fresh news about the Zhirs.

“Hey, we heard from them recently!”, Clint began.

Jackie chimed in, “In our visit, they reflected on our warm friendship from years back. They also referenced their appreciation over our having given them space regarding the matter of ‘discussing religion’.”

Clint went on, “Through some newer friendships in their present city, the Zhirs began being stirred to explore Christ and the faith. Great news. Both are now believers!”

November 21, 2024

Watershed Moments

As with many spouses of T.U. scholars, she had adopted a Western nickname (perhaps less daunting to the American tongue). Gayle and her graduate-student husband, ‘Dean’, had been in Tulsa nearly two years. The story of their faith journey corresponded with a marginal difference to that of another married couple, the Zhirs*. The Zhirs happened to both share a common first name. My wife, a twinkle in her eye, nicknamed them ‘Zhirs Squared’.

ISM enjoyed serving alongside host families – Christ-followers endeavoring to mirror the faith. Such households, with their knack of welcoming strangers in their midst, lived and breathed hospitality.

Dean and Gayle were an engaging couple eager to sharpen their “second language” skills. They instantly warmed to the ‘English Corner’ community.

Along the way Dean was notified that a significant academic opportunity in a distant location had been offered him. The couple’s departure from Tulsa was imminent. They would move in a matter of days.

Wednesday evening’s English Corner rolled around and the usual stream of internationals and American host friends arrived at our common meeting area, the campus dining hall. Alerted to Gayle and her husband’s news of soon moving away, one volunteer exclaimed, “Oh, Gayle, we are going to miss you so much!” At this, the young lady – overcome by the sincere gesture – excused herself and moved to a quiet area to gather her emotions. Tears flowed.

Some moments later she was joined by her host friend who had followed her from a respectable distance. In the moments that followed, Gayle, sensing a consoling presence which she discerned to be the love of God, expressed her desire to embrace the faith that so marked her friend’s lives. Shortly afterward her husband Dean followed suit. Christ proved himself true through their years following. Savior, companion and Lord.

Among the beautiful features of nearing, then crossing salvation’s threshold to God’s kingdom is the uniqueness of each person in their own pilgrimage. The circuitous route of the Zhirs (befriended by a different volunteer family altogether) would unfold across its own distinctive set of landscapes.

June 13, 2024June 12, 2024

Silent Treatment

“Is he going there?” I thought. “Are there men here in the Sunday gathering (myself included) poised in this moment to witness the unveiling of a familiar elephant in the room?”

As with fingers at a dimmer switch, the pastor was advancing the dial. In the moments following, Roger sensitively and with great compassion teamed with the Holy Spirit in lifting the lights. Illumining a pathway in the recesses of some troubled minds.

A while back I had glimpsed a flicker of hope through my counsellor-friend Steve. He had graciously labored to assure me that I was not alone, that I did not have a corner on struggles over impure thoughts and lust. Now, taking in today’s account of a fellow brother in the faith – of his struggles and his ongoing pilgrimage into wholeness – I sensed a rare, near-tangible assurance . Could far better days lie ahead?

The era of my growing-up years – the 1950s and 60s – were those in the cultural landscape marked by imperfect ideals and role models, like the ‘strong, silent male’.

While the ‘strong’ piece of that phrase might have been in question concerning some, the ‘silent’ ingredient among men was often palpable.

It might have been normal to wax eloquent over Gurnsey prices down at the local livestock yard or contesting the preferred mode of transport (Chevy vs Ford), or debating which team in a league would make the World Series cut. But confiding about personal topics – struggles over addictive behaviors and so forth – was a practice entered into rarely indeed.

Thus, I had deduced from a young age, it was best keeping my personal concerns – disturbing as some might be – close to my chest. Better to trudge forward in the company of secrets than of shame.

April 4, 2024

Overflow

Turning onto Xanthus Ave that Thursday evening, I glanced at my watch. “How will this go? Who will show up? Will I be on my game (whatever that means)?

The young lady of last night’s call had suggested the newly-arrived grad students I was preparing to meet were open to learn something of the story of Jesus. “Had any of these scholarly young men ever seen a Bible?”, I wondered, Influenced and shaped as they likely were by their homeland’s official doctrine of atheism.

A niggling question played at my own conscience, “How mindful am I of Jesus Christ in the course of my routine days?”

Dialing back the musings, I eased the car along the curb before the Jesus Inn. Minutes later I was settling into easy introductions and conversations with our new arrivals. The easy part was much to the credit of Weili, her cheery personality mitigating any sense of awkwardness. “At last,” I thought, smiling, “we have a face to go with that sing-song voice from the phone visit!”

That first evening at Jesus Inn – engaging, laughing with, welcoming the newcomers – served as a treasured early catalyst for us at the university. Propelling the ministry forward slow-motion, as we inched our way to becoming a truly transcultural family. We (students, volunteers, friendship partners) could with God’s help, steward a faith culture flowering in deep-hearted care, engaging throughout in meaningful acts of service.

Now – three decades in – the miracle of good seed planted, and of lives yet being changed for the good, stands as evidence that any misgivings or nail-biting angst earlier on were mere distractions. Several of the Jesus-Inn graduate students with their specialties (geology – information technology – petroleum) have proceeded wonderfully forward, bearing fruit within their fresh-discovered faith.

Issuing from the overflow of a young lady’s renovated heart.

January 11, 2024

Sharp Turn

Impressive structures that weather the elements of time owe their long resilience to sound foundations. Moving about the Tulsa campus lying along the famed Route 66 corridor, I was garnering insights about T.U.’s own foundations. Not those to do with brick and mortar but of held convictions, beliefs and values – elements that gave rise to the university’s birth back in the nineteenth century.

Along the way I reflected how the many streams of higher education in America had sprung forth and flowed directly from the headwaters of Christian faith and practice.

The first colleges in America were founded by Christians and approximately 106 out of the 108 first colleges were Christian colleges. Harvard University, which is considered one of the leading universities in America and the world was founded by Christians. One of the original precepts of the then Harvard College stated that students should be instructed in knowing God and that Christ is the only foundation of all “sound knowledge and learning*.

The more I drank in of T.U.’s legacy the more I felt a grateful kinship. I paused at the courtyard of Sharp Chapel. Bedrock elements like truth and compassion, mercy and justice – qualities embodied in the person of Jesus himself – had birthed this place. These and other such virtues, all featured front and center at the school’s inception.

The University of Tulsa arose out of Presbyterian Mission roots by way of Kendall College. Even now the ‘vital signs’ of the Christian faith bore evidence of active life. Via several streams of campus expression. From Presbyterian to Baptist to Methodist to Catholic, alongside a range of parachurch ministries.

Buoyed in part by my recent ‘until they know that you care’ moment, I rallied my courage.

Entering through large ornate doors of Sharp Chapel I followed a stairway up to the Chaplain’s office.

Would my request be approved? I wondered. Would International Student Ministries be endorsed as a formally sanctioned presence. To offer, through the Lord’s grace, a witness to the life and hope resident in the person of Jesus? Particularly, among scholars and students even now making their way to this place from across the world.

September 7, 2023

Assertive Action

“I am sorry, but your son will not walk again.”

My mom, seated in the Tulsa hospital’s polio ward, listened as the doctor offered his prognosis. Her heart sank.

It might be argued the physician’s assessment in the moment was made prematurely. Regardless, news like this coming to the parent of a paralyzed nine-year-old lying in a Hillcrest bed down the hall could not be received without emotion.

Our family was blessed to have friends. Common, blue-collar-status households marked, for the most part, the culture of our modest faith community. Upon receiving the latest troubling news of my ongoing decline, the little band of churchgoers rallied their hearts. They reset their resolve. As an earlier body of believers of ancient times had been challenged to do, they continued in prayer.*

Having been carried by Dad into the hospital weeks earlier – my legs and feet unresponsive to my very best efforts at even wiggling a toe – I was often reminded I was never forgotten by our faithful praying family.

My condition worsened still. Discussions were convened of bringing in a piece of equipment bearing a foreboding kind of name – the Iron Lung. A backup measure for my increasingly compromised respiratory system.

The actions of the small prayer band seemed a little counterintuitive. They simply kept on with their appeals. Kind people paid a visit resting kind hands* on my frail form.

It remains for me a big mystery as to why I got counted among some of the fortunate ones over time to encounter the miraculous firsthand. Looking back I recall with some wonder the astonishing shift in my condition. My terribly weakened body responding to the Lord’s gracious, powerful hand. The little company of his blue-collar intercessors had kept their petitions going. If biblical praying is anything it is love acted upon audaciously.

Some four weeks after the iron lung deliberation the hospital’s exit doors opened. I was standing upright, walking with only the support of a couple crutches which would soon get discarded. Both my body and spirit responded happily to the crisp air outside.

A doubtful questioner once offered, “I believe that, instead of God answering prayer, the matter is merely coincidental. You pray. A coincidence occurs and you claim that some prayer was answered.”

The prayer practitioner offered a kind response, “Maybe you are right. Yet, what I have found is this. The more we pray – the more the coincidences happen”.

This is the way of apprentices to Jesus. They engage. Routinely – in humble trusting faith – they converse with him.

November 4, 2022

Abundant

As we hunger on after God he ensures that plenty of life-enhancing nutrients come our way. With him as supplier we don’t fret about scarcity. Rather, we take comfort, even delight, in this wondrous fact. His kingdom into which we have entered and now live overflows in plenty.

‘Supply chain interruption’. The phrase is seldom voiced among those abiding in Jesus, living under his governance. And part of the great news is this – the currency of our Lord’s kingdom. We live by faith. God himself supplies the faith (kingdom currency) needed, and it never ever diminishes.

Everyone has a faith story, even if it is not yet clearly known to them.

We grow to live our lives rooted in things that we believe. . . What we believe about ourselves. What we believe or disbelieve about God, and about the world. Our belief or non-belief about an afterlife beyond the grave.

A person’s behaviors (their routine actions in life) make it clear as to what they actually do believe, what they hold as truth. More about that later.

I first got introduced to the Christian faith as a young child. It was only afterward that I gave much thought to spiritual hunger.

I think everyone gets hungry for God. It is a little like the natural hunger I had that day at the college campus. Yet it is not the same. My mother and father were moved to yearn after God in their time of deep sorrow at the drowning death of their young son. But, whether through a great crisis or simply in a time of honest questionings we sense there is a “something” missing.

For some of us, this hungering is a thing we have not given much thought to. Yet most all people across the world have deep life questions. And we feel the yearning for the something that is beyond ourselves.

In truth we are yearning for him – God. We thirst for his help and we yearn for his companionship. It is him, the One who is ready and able to fill up the hungry space inside us. Indeed, the one by whom and for whom we were made.

French mathematician and physicist Blaise Pascal offered a word picture,

“There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of each man which cannot be satisfied by any created thing but only by God the Creator, made known through Jesus Christ.” *

March 24, 2018March 27, 2018

Follow

For years my faith was out of sorts. Not that it lacked truth. Or strength. Or substance (though this could be a subject for another day).

My faith bobbled and wobbled from a lack of understanding how it was meant to be applied. . . or not applied. Especially where actual life formation was concerned. How I was meant to grow – tools to move me there – actual steps to Christlikeness.

A car-towing venture in Africa during the ‘60s might illustrate (a blog entry at this site labeled Drag Race, relates the drama in full).

Two men. Two cars. One of the vehicles, a Jeep, has its engine running. It’s towing the other – a disabled Volkswagen Beetle.

All went well until, navigating a long, downhill slope of dirt road, the less-seasoned Beetle driver – his car gaining speed – elected to pass the Jeep. Yes, to move in front of the lead car. . . Tow rope secure, in place.

His act was not one of the better options open to him. The driver was abruptly schooled in a basic principle. The tow rope would prove a friend as long as its use was rightly applied.

In my hopes of maturing in areas of Christlikeness I failed (like the VW pilot) to position myself rightly in relation to my leader.

It is the wise Jesus-follower who keeps the Rabbi’s sandal-prints in view. Simply moving forward as apprentice-in-training, eyeing the master, taking signals from him. Rather than the alternative – charging. . . or meandering [the speed doesn’t seem to matter] – off independently.

Actions taken in the hope of life transformation fall to two categories. Dallas Willard offers one of them as the clear choice, stating that effective life-change for the good rests on this critical approach – Training vs Trying.

Like the poor, distracted driver, I’ve spent a lot of my energy trying to keep myself aright, often inattentive to a useful point. The fellow in the lead has a better view of the landscape, holds the necessary power at his disposal, and knows just where we’re headed.

Entrusting my understanding to his recommended way – the power needed supplied in full and within easy reach – I might enter a more hopeful process. Not apart from effort, to be sure, this further journey into his likeness. But surprisingly effective, richly hopeful and actually less labor-intensive. In the Rabbi’s language – an easy yoke.

I was at last entering a means that may help me avoid the wrong use of my lifeline, sparing my ‘mobility’ being toppled sideways in the dust.

The rabbi-teacher inviting me to a better means.

“A more excellent way” – 1 Corinthians 12:31

April 25, 2018

Mind The Step

Growing in Christlikeness takes brains.

Not brilliance. Not genius. The Christian Faith isn’t privately reserved for Nobel Prize recipients in science and medicine. Indeed, any trusting, open-hearted child may drink deep of the waters of salvation.

But serious Jesus-followers setting out to grow as his disciples are not ones to check their brains at the door. To them, good sense reflected by sound thinking is essential – a no-brainer, you might say.

Unfolding the topography map (Google Earth wouldn’t debut for another decade) I was soon taken by the stunning landscape spread out before me. Even when merely displayed on landscape parchment, the vast range of Kili’s expanse – her ravines etching wrinkles across her ancient face – captivated me.

The mountain’s greens, from rich shadows to hues showcasing rain forests and highland grasses drew me in. Into dreaming. And more than that. To thinking.

How often do we give it consideration, this quality of thought. Its power and its necessity. The uniquely human capacity to consider, to surmise and decide – that is, to use our brain?

Before any venture can get underway – from the Wright brothers winged launch into North Carolina skies to the designing and building of India’s dazzling Taj Mahal to putting together the kids lunch bag for school – the mind must stir.

Surveying Kilimanjaro’s image that morning, my mind did that. It stirred. And a dream was born.

I would set out to climb this mountain. . . and do it with my kids. At the very least, I could try. But there would be a needed sequence about such a heady vision. Some mental pacings must precede the actual ones. Before the climb could ever begin, I must further engage my mind. Questions asked. Mysteries uncovered.

When is the best season of year for such thing? – Which route promises the best chance of success? – Supplies – what equipment, survival gear and food stuff do we gather If my two teens and me are to set foot on Africa’s legendary rooftop? – What will it all cost? (this was a Biggie)

Does this make any sense? Could we actually achieve it? Thoughts. These demanded logic, rationale, kinds of things I’m not so famous for. Still, the thinking part, I came to realize, was indispensable to a happy, adventurous – and completed – climb.

I got encouraged, enthused actually. The task would be daunting, but it was reachable. . . I felt certain. I had lived at the foot of this glorious giant long enough to learn some secrets, catch some glimpses of the possibilities.

Thinking had been happening a while.

So simple strategies began playing in my head – vague and ill-defined at first – of taking on this vast, snow-crowned volcano.

I peered again at Kili’s image lying there atop our dining table, the table itself crafted of timber harvested from other African slopes – Kenya’s Mount Elgon.

On and on I continued thinking. . . and on.

Trekking a mountain to her summit may be much like walking with Christ, I mused. One [sensible] step at a time.