Peace – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

June 15, 2023June 14, 2023

George On My Mind

Peace lives on the street called Surrender.

When he shared of his Sarcoma cancer diagnosis, George offered up a request, “Please ask people not to pray for total healing as I really am looking forward to heaven.”

What moves a person to make such an appeal? What routine rhythms of living might bring a man or woman to approach their final months and days with such a mindset?

People who knew George Verwer well understand that these are reasonable questions. And that their answers are within reach. Our attention gets captured when we witness a person displaying what seems complete inner calm when facing distressing news.

George had, through the years, related accounts of his mischief-making days as a youth growing up in New Jersey. He spoke, as well, of a neighbor woman who felt compassion for him in his waywardness and of her commitment in regularly praying for him. The neighbor’s teenage son gifted George a copy of a Bible text, the Gospel of John.

Not long afterward he found himself on a bus en route to Madison Square Garden where he would hear a young preacher offering sermons.

Responding to Billy Graham’s invitation to “turn your life over to the Lord Jesus”, young George came to faith. From there, he went on to proclaim Jesus’ good news of God’s kingdom. Today thousands of obedient Christ-followers staff a worldwide organization he founded, Operation Mobilization. Distributing the Bible and Christian literature became a fervent passion for George.

Among the first pieces of literature he read after his conversion was Billy Graham’s, “Peace With God”. In his ‘yes’ to the Lord as a 16-year-old, the youth had opened himself to God’s peace. Then, throughout his long and often-challenging lifetime, he gave himself over and over to routine surrenderings. Rhythms of practices. Spiritual disciplines.

George’s rhythms of living, all in the companionship of the Holy Spirit, marked him as a man of joyful contentment – a follower and lover of Jesus. Unafraid, even in death.

June 1, 2023

Element of Peace

The left footprint on display in the fresh-turned soil bore no resemblance to its counterpart. My right foot featured a really high arch while the left one lacked an arch at all. This one’s imprint carried the appearance of a flat board.

Thus, my bare feet had left a trail of odd alternating marks as I leapt to keep pace with my daddy’s longer strides across the plowed furrows.

Yes, the hardship of poliomyelitis from a prior time had left permanent marks. Yet, here I was curiously limping. . . and frolicking.

We don’t find people who are prone to relish suffering. I would certainly not be counted among them. Words like hardship or adversity or pain stir in many of us a cringe of resistance and angst.

Still, visiting the Bible’s pages we routinely find triumph mingled with trial. Pleasure and pain show up as near neighbors. Happiness keeping company with hardship.

We muse over these strangely-matched companions. Especially so in reflective seasons like Holy Week, the period of Jesus’ (and history’s) darkest hours leading to his awful crucifixion.

How perplexing seems the phrase of the New Testament writer, “looking to Jesus who, for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross*

Enduring flogging and a torturous public execution with its attending shame, Christ’s suffering comes to us as ‘hardship’ utterly redefined.

So, we revisit our prayer – “accepting hardship as a pathway to peace”.

The apprentice of Jesus comes to actually affirm the beauty of suffering when endured in a grace lavishly supplied. Holding the master’s image in view the disciple settles into an element of peace words fail to capture. The difference is found through the example and presence of the resurrected, sacrificial coach.

Christ’s disciples make up that unusual sampling of humans who reconcile the paradox – hardship, an indispensable part of the good life.

He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace*

May 25, 2023May 24, 2023

Tending Soil

“Take my life and let it be ever, only, all for Thee”, pleads the hymn writer. The cry pulses with yearning, hunger. He hungers to be fully owned by One who is wiser and more capable in the great undertaking. Of fashioning the apprentice to a pure reflection of Jesus. Ever only all for Thee.

Every young farm kid knows the sensation of freshly-plowed earth, of feeling its cool softness at the entry of an eager pair of bare feet. What delight – shoeless and sockless – toes and heel pushing themselves into rich soil on an early Summer day.

For me, the simple action sparked a magic “yippee!” moment. Following the plow blade’s piercing work, the Alfalfa field got nicely smoothed out by a clunky tractor-drawn implement called a harrow. If, in these steps of sowing-prep the soil itself could speak, it might have bellowed out a loud objection, “Stop this, Stop, OK?!”

Hardship.

“Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace”.

As a Christ-follower, I might generally offer up those first couple of Serenity Prayer lines with little complaint. The last seven words? Not so much.

Another barefoot memory I relish is a little self-imposed goal set while trailing my daddy across fresh-turned soil. While it falls short of Olympic Trial standards, my goal was marked by two firm rules. (1) Keep up with my daddy’s long strides and, (2) With every leap forward, plant my small foot at the center of his large boot print. Succeeding at the two goals – for even a short while – left me a little goofy and giddy.

While human life can and does reflect seasons of enjoying each moment at a time, we are creatures of paradox. Up seems down. Down seems up. Healthy growth for the believer in doing life well calls for episodes of hardship.

These seasons come our way unavoidable, inescapable. And, in some cases, fiercely painful. Yet, in Christ, there is held before us a bedrock assurance. Goodness and flourishing will meet the pilgrim in good time. If not now, at the other side.

October 27, 2022October 27, 2022

Hungering On

We humans are different from other creatures – birds and fish, beasts making up earth’s animal kingdom. As with animals, humans do of course get hungry. We grow thirsty. We are fueled with a drive to reproduce.

And yet.

We stand much apart from the families of cows and of dogs and of giraffes.

Humans have souls. Another way of putting it is we are souls. Among the most ancient writings found in what is called “wisdom literature” – we are offered a remarkable idea. Human beings are created as “image bearers” of God.

This is a big thought. That we share important qualities found inside the nature of God himself. Though we certainly are not God, nor could we ever become God.

Ancient Bible texts make the bold claim, “So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27 NLT).

For some of our readers, such an idea as this may come as a new thought. Let us look a little closer.

Assume that we are made by God for relationship with him. If so, such a condition might give rise to a certain nagging hunger within us. Such a hunger does exist. It is a kind of hunger straining within every culture and among every generation. We grapple with the yearning again and again. We are hungry creatures indeed.

For me, my hunger for God went like this.

In my most quiet and private and honest moments I sensed a “knowing” – an awareness that something was missing.

“What if the something is God” I wondered, “my designer, my maker, a someone who keeps me going?”

Opening the ancient texts (the Bible) my questions continued. . .

“What if God is the one being in all the cosmos who knows me through and through? “And suppose, furthermore, that he is perfectly wise and is the full embodiment of what we feebly call love.

“What if he has fashioned me so that he and I – along with others – may actually enter a living relationship together. Growing ever richer in peace and joy (inseparable companions of love), continuing on and on forever?”

This was, I realized, what the Bible was telling me.

My appetite grew.

August 22, 2017August 28, 2017

Psalm Power

Passing on foot through African wildlife terrain is not advised, especially if unarmed. More especially if unarmed and alone – and after dark.

Try as I may, I couldn’t shut my mind to a growing parade of frightful images. . . a Cape Buffalo lifting its’ great head, sniffing the night air to catch my scent. . . a deadly viper lying unseen on the darkened sand before me. More fearful than these I imagined a Leopard. Strong. Ferocious. A chill passed through me “seeing her” – mid-flight in her leap my direction this moment, her great claws and teeth bared.

Though I was walking fast I knew my heart-beats were outpacing my footsteps. This panic must stop. Get control, Jerry.

. . .Call up Scripture.

The thought came strongly yet in calmness – as from a voice inside bearing an authoritative, consoling tone. Pressing my mind to respond, I willed myself past the taunting images and began mentally scrolling phrases, long at home in my memory. I paused at the great hymnal of Scripture – the Psalms.

Yes, I breathed, Psalm 91. It was a favorite. . . and clearly suited to the moment.

Psalm 91. Long anchored in history as a rich piece of literature. I needed Psalm 91. Needed heart messages found there. Crisp, Bold. Assuring. My lips framed familiar words one by one and my mouth found its voice. Keeping up my brisk pace, I called the phrases out toward a starry canopy above.

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. . .

I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.

He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. . . Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day. . .

I continued my quoting, gaining courage, as if an old, half-asleep conviction were being stirred awake. Even my heartbeat seemed to be moving to a more natural rhythm . . .

A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

. . .thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;

There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.

They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.

By now a boldness had risen from somewhere, surprising me in its force. I sensed a shift in confidence.

Peace seems inadequate a term to describe the near-tangible sense of well-being that followed, settling all about me. A change had come, powerful, real. I was free of fear. Free.

Stronger than ever I voiced the next phrase of the Psalm,

Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.

At this I actually smiled, aware that my super-hasty march had slowed. I whispered, Thank you, Lord, You didn’t bring me to Africa to feed me to the big cats, or poison me by a cobra strike. Thank you!

Moments passed quickly. I navigated the river’s long bend – still sweetly calmed – and soon, with near giddiness, I spotted the object I had pursued for such a long time it seemed – a small vehicle of uniquely German design.

The bug sat well out of the riverbed, its’ headlights revealing the murram track ahead. Pointing home.

Because he hath set his love upon me. . He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him.

August 31, 2017

Cajun Surprise

The joy-stream inside me began as a trickle and broadened soon to a rippling brook, before breaking out in overflow. Like Old Faithful awash in laughter.

The contrast was stark. My mood of just moments before had been glum.

Merely responding to an inner prompting to laugh surely couldn’t lead to such a free-spirited abundance of peace?

Irrational, even hypocritical as the laughing exercise at first seemed, my hollow ha-ha-ha’s at some point crossed a threshold. As if persistence made possible the passing of a baton. To a literal spirit of laughter.

Regardless how it all may have gone, one thing was certain.

The money-worry lifted – indeed it had vanished. A bubbly joy giving rise to effortless, authentic laughter washed over my heart and mind. Nothing felt a threat or burden, not CPK Language School fees. Not a looming insurance bill. Still I was rational, knowing a full day of normal, responsible activities lay ahead. An unvoiced assurance had settled in that all was well.

Four hours later I drew open a post office box and spotted a letter marked Louisiana. And started to read.

“Hi Jerry and Ann. I hope you all are doin’ well.”

I smiled as Ray Manguno’s easy-going Cajun brogue drifted into my hearing via the eye gate as I read.

“Well, I’m out in Alabama’s back-country doing evangelistic work. I’m preaching some night services at a little church. . .”

Ray then spoke of a practice he followed when preaching revival meetings.

“I always preach one evening on foreign missions, the call to get God’s message out across the world. I always raise an offering on that missions night, passing the plate so the local gathering can send a gift to whoever their church supports outside the country.”

As I read, curiosity stirred, Where’s my college pal headed with this? I glanced the added paper insert that had dropped from the envelope.

“Well,” Ray continued, “when the service ended the pastor came over to me a little embarrassed. He said, ‘Brother Raymond, our church doesn’t support any missionary. In fact. . . we don’t even know a missionary we could send this money to. . . Do you know anyone who could use the offering?’”

“‘Well, pastor,’ ” I said to him, ‘I actually have a couple on my mind right now.’”

“Now, Brother Jerry. . . and Ann, I want to tell you all that for the past few days I had been having you in my thoughts. Actually, the sight of your faces came up before me ahead of my time to preach here at this church on missions.

“So anyway, that kind of explains how the enclosed gift is for you guys.”

I sat in our white VW Bug with its KNZ 948 license plate, and rehearsed the story in silence, re-reading it slowly, word by word. Taking in the dollar amount registered on the American bank check I was sure it sufficed to cover our two crucial bills.

It was then I let out a whoop. “Praise you, Father! Thank you, thank you, Lord.” I thought of my wife.

Wait ‘til Ann sees this.

Pausing again, I recalled the early morning laughing spell and wagged my head in a mix of gratefulness and wonder. I steered the Volkswagen into traffic.

My accelerator foot experienced a slight weight gain en route home.