I wouldn’t last a day as a real pirate. But lately I’ve heard all the pirate jokes, especially the bad ones. “Why didn’t the pirate go see the movie?” “Because it was rated ARRRRRRRRR.”

I am wearing an eye patch because of the adventure that began in early September when I started noticing floaters and flashers in my right eye. Flashers appear like little lightning bolts coming from the corner of the eye, and you know what floaters look like. Because I had seen the same thing in my left eye one year earlier, I figured it was a torn retina, which was easily repaired with laser surgery then. This time, however, there was also a detachment, which Dr. Jason Sanders at Piedmont Retina Specialists in Greensboro described as “a medical emergency.” I’ll spare you the gory details, but after two in-the-office procedures and one operation, my right eye is on the mend. I still have a gas bubble in it and my vision is poor, so I wear a patch to keep my left eye seeing clearly. I missed most of a national conference our church hosted and at which I was supposed to speak three times. I missed our annual men’s retreat at Holden Beach where 40 men and young men from the church enjoyed two nights and days of teaching, worship, fellowship and eating like, well, men. I missed two Sundays at church while having to lie on my left side with my head in a certain position for 12 days. There’s no question in my mind that I would have been prescribed Ritalin as a very active elementary school student back in the ’60s, had there even been such a thing then. So, to stop doing everything I am used to doing for two weeks was the hardest thing I have ever, uh, not done. Let me share just a few of the lessons I have learned during this season of my life.

I learned that my eyesight is a gift from God, and had I lived one hundred years ago, or if I lived in many places in the world today, I would be blind in both eyes now.
I learned that I can trust God to take me through very painful surgery.

I learned again that the church belongs to Him, and that its health does not depend on me. He has placed many in the body who can lead and feed the flock in my absence.

I learned that we are never sidelined as believers. What we sometimes describe as a detour is God’s design, for which He has gospel purposes. He allowed Cindy and me to meet Lauren, Amy, Harry, Kim and others at the doctor’s office, and share about our family, our church and our love for Christ.

I learned that God has His people everywhere. Just before I was taken back for scleral buckle surgery, Dr. Sanders came into pre-op to speak with me. He said, “My wife and I prayed for you by name this morning.” My heart rejoiced that not only was I in the care of a highly skilled doctor, his life is in the hands of the Great Physician.

Jesus said to His disciples, “Blessed are your eyes, for they see.” He was talking about spiritual sight, which is given by God to those who trust in the One who is the light of the world.

Let me encourage you to do two things. First, go see Dr. Sanders at the earliest occurrence of flashers and floaters. Second, entrust your spiritual vision to the God who made you.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to spend the better part of an afternoon with a good friend of mine. I was flying to Kenya and had a six-hour layover in Detroit. So, my friend came and picked me up at the airport, we found a little cafe close by and had a pleasant lunch together. Then we asked directions to the nearest Starbucks and spent another two hours there, enjoying the fact that neither one of us had to be anywhere that afternoon, there was nothing pressing us, and we could simply enjoy the company, the wonderful smell of coffee brewing, and the laughter of good friends.

We talked easily of old times, swapped stories, joked around, and just enjoyed being together. I reflected later on the plane how much I love this friend of mine, and look forward to the next time we can be together. The funny thing is, though we had known each other for 21 years, our relationship had changed drastically in the last two.

You see, this friend is also my oldest son. Micah attended college about an hour from Detroit, and was able to come down and hang out with his dad for half a day. We talked about the courses he was taking in college and the things he was learning about life. We discussed the job offer he had waiting for him after he graduated in May. We laughed about college pranks, and we agonized together about the Panthers loss that year in the playoffs. We talked about theology and about career choices and about marriage.

When Micah dropped me off at the airport and we hugged, it felt as natural and as easy to say “I love you” to my son as anything I have ever done.

What a blessing! I felt like I was sitting down to a banquet of fresh fruits and vegetables that my wife and I had planted in a different season. All of the agony of back-breaking toil in the hot sun was forgotten because the harvest was in and the feast was prepared. The labor was eclipsed by the sweet reward. The fruit was delicious and satisfying.

I am not writing this to point to myself as a good father. Believe me when I say that I have made as many mistakes as anyone. I remember a basketball game that almost came to blows because of my own pride and stubborn competitiveness. Micah’s cooler head prevailed, and we were spared what could have been a devastating blow to our relationship. I remember many times when I disciplined in anger. I remember several years of awkward embarrassment between us as he grew into manhood, and the hugs were fewer than they should have been, the expressions of love forced at times, absent at others. I remember the times I didn’t do the thing my son needed and the times I did or said the wrong thing. But I am eternally grateful and I give praise to the one who is able to take my meager efforts and my mistakes and redeem them for His own glorious purposes. He has certainly done that in my relationship with Micah, who just turned 30, is married to Kari, and is the father to three sons. And I thank God that he has done the same with each of my other six children.

The Bible says, “A wise son makes a glad father, but a foolish son is the grief of his mother.”

This is one glad father.

Many people do not know that after John Quincy Adams completed his tenure as president in 1829, he was elected to the House of Representatives. There, he served for the last 18 years of his life, waging war against slavery in a pro-slavery House.

Adams was dubbed the “Hell-Hound of Slavery” because of his dogged determination never to quit the fight until victory was his.

During this time in our nation’s history, the Congress was responsive to the people, and Mondays any citizen could make a petition in the House and ask for legislation. On one particular Monday, John Quincy Adams introduced 900 anti-slavery petitions! The pro-slavery congressmen were livid, and passed a resolution that any petition could be brought to the House on a Monday except petitions that opposed slavery. This was the first “Gag Rule” ever enacted by Congress, and it was aimed at one man who was willing to stand for what was right. It did not work.

Adams’ battle continued, despite the fact that he was threatened with expulsion from the House by congressional leadership. He never slowed down or even showed signs of fatigue. Asked once why he persisted in the fight, and how he managed to avoid discouragement (or even despair) at the outcome, John Quincy Adams replied, “Duty is ours, results are God’s.”

Oh, what a guiding principle for our lives! Adams cared deeply that slaves be set free, but whether they ever were or not was not his motivation. He fought for their freedom because it was the right thing to do, not because it was the most expedient. He understood, perhaps, what Benjamin Rush (one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence) meant when Rush said that on the final judgment day God will say to all those who belong to Him through a relationship with His Son Jesus, “Well done thou good and faithful — not good and successful — servant.”

On Dec. 3, 1844, after nearly eight years of battling the pro-slavery forces with the Gag Rule in effect, John Quincy Adams’ motion to rescind the rule was passed. Once again, slavery was an open topic of discussion in the Congress. Though the abolition of slavery did not seem to be any closer to becoming reality, at least now the topic could be debated again in the House. Adams’ response to the victory? Blessed, forever blessed, be the name of God!

We know the end of the story that John Quincy Adams never lived to see. Slavery was finally abolished but it took a man named Lincoln some four decades later to finish the job that Adams and others had begun. Had John Quincy Adams lost hope and faded in the heat of battle, what would have become of the cause? We will never know, because Adams remained faithful to the end, though he never saw the full fruits of his labor.

Isn’t the Christian life much like that? We toil and labor and sow and water, and often it is for future generations to enjoy the fruit. Yet we are called to be faithful to the end, no matter the cost. As you know, dear reader, our nation is crumbling from moral and spiritual decay. Who of us will follow John Quincy Adams’ example? Duty is ours, results are God’s.

As you read this, I am at a men’s retreat with 40 of the men and young men of the church. It reminds me of another retreat several years ago. At one point during the weekend, there were about 15 of us in the ocean, riding the waves, trying to avoid several Portuguese man-of-war that were floating our way, laughing and enjoying the time together.

After a half hour or so, most left the water and ran off to do other things, and then there were just four of us dads left in the ocean. I cannot remember ever swimming at the beach when the water was like it was that day. The waves were coming fast and furious, each one bigger than any I could recall from past trips to the ocean. We hardly had time to get ready to float over one, or ride it in, before the next one came. When I caught a wave just right, it would take me speeding toward the beach. It was exhilarating. When I caught it too early or too late, it would spin me crazily around underwater like a dishrag in the spin cycle.

It occurred to me later that evening as we were singing worship songs and I was preparing to teach, that I would not have been in the ocean that day by myself. It was just too risky. I was constantly checking on the other men to make sure they were still ‘above their circumstances,’ as I am sure they were doing the same for me and the others. We were staying close together, none drifting out further than the rest. We wanted to ensure that the waves did not produce any casualties that day.

I remember the story from “The War,” documentary by Ken Burns, about the U.S. sailors who were in the ocean for days after their ship was destroyed by the Japanese. Sharks found the men and began to come, every day, to pick them apart. Imagine the horror of knowing that the sharks would be back in a few hours, and this time they may be coming for you.

The sad truth is that there are men in all of our churches who are facing the dangerous waves of financial destruction or marriage breakup or addiction to pornography or worse. The sharks of loneliness, depression and despair are circling. Many of these men are isolated, drifting further from the shore, further from the brothers who are there and can help, further from hope. Some don’t know where to turn because they have been consumed with pursuing their own dreams of financial success and relationships with friends simply have not been a priority. Others know exactly what to do and where to go, but pride or shame or embarrassment keeps them drifting away while they look longingly at the band of brothers they used to know and love.

The Bible says, “Exhort one another every day … that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.”

Men, we need brothers who will stay close to us, tell us the truth and help us get past the breakers and into calmer waters, men who will pray for us when we are in over our heads. These men will most likely not be found at the social club or the golf course or the bar. Go to the closest church where the Bible is still being faithfully preached and men are still being challenged to be men … you will find some brothers there.

Maybe I will see you tomorrow at church.

If you are reading this online right now, you may have a mouse in your hand. Not the brown furry kind. The hard plastic kind that slides or rolls on a pad. Try something for me. Take the mouse (either kind) and see if you can use it to drive a nail into a two-by-four. I’ll wait; go ahead. OK, you’re back, and I can tell you are not happy about your dead mouse. A mouse is useful for clicking on things on your screen. It makes a lousy hammer. Cars are made for what? Right, transportation over land. Try driving one through Lake Mackintosh sometime. You will be angry about your dead car. Water is made for what? Right, drinking, washing things, even weekly bathing. But if you drove into the lake with your car you would quickly find that water is not made for breathing. You would have some very unhappy lungs until they found air, which is made for breathing. Mosquitoes are made for what? I have no idea. OK, let’s skip mosquitoes.

One of the ways we can define righteousness is “right usefulness.” Using a mouse to drive a nail is unrighteous. It was not created for that use. Trying to drive over a lake without a bridge is an unrighteous use of a perfectly good automobile. Drinking clean water is fine, but trying to breathe it is unrighteous. What’s my point? Every created thing, even mosquitoes, are “righteous” when they are serving the purpose for which they were created. So the big question, the one that matters most, is this: “What were you made for?” Even that will lead you down the wrong road until you realize that the question properly asked is, “Who were you made for?”

The only righteous answer is God. You and I were created by God, in His image, to know Him, to love Him, to serve Him, and to enjoy Him supremely over all of His creation. This foundational truth sets our life in a direction that will result in love, joy and peace. It doesn’t mean that our lives are without trials and suffering. Oh, no. In fact, for the follower of Jesus Christ, there will be persecution and suffering precisely because we hold to Him as our only hope. The Bible says, “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” But those trials have a right usefulness as well, not to drive us away from the One who loves us, but to press us more deeply into His arms, and into a faith that cannot be shaken.

So the next question has to be, “What identifies you as a human being?” Or, “What do you see as your primary purpose for the threescore and ten that you walk the planet?” Some of you might say that your vocation defines you. Or your talent. Some might say your role in the home defines you, that you were put here to be a father or a mother. Some would answer, “I am defined by my sexuality.” Others would admit that a passion for money or power identifies them and gives their lives meaning. Some of you might even sadly agree that your life would be meaningless without gaming. Sigh.

Nothing will satisfy your soul and give your life the purpose for which you were created except the God who created you. Find people who really know Him and ask them if what I am saying is true.

Let me know what you hear. And if you know what mosquitoes are good for.

It was while Josh McDowell was on his way to examine the historical evidence of Christianity that he came to believe that the claims of Christ are indeed true. C.S. Lewis, the author of “The Chronicles of Narnia,” is in that same camp of former skeptics. Count Lee Strobel in that group as well. The former hard-nosed journalist and atheist is the author of a best seller, “The Case for Christ.” Francis S. Collins, noted scientist and a leader of the Human Genome Project, has renounced atheism and written “The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief.”
They are in good company. Perhaps the most famous antagonist of the Christian faith was none other than Saul of Tarsus. It was while he was on his way to arrest followers of the Way that he met the risen Lord, Jesus of Nazareth. Paul became a believer that day and spent the rest of his life trying to persuade others to follow Jesus.
Why did the early disciples refer to themselves as belonging to “the Way?” There are several reasons, one of which is that faith in Jesus was not a box they checked on Sunday, but a way of life. The strongest reason, however, was because of what Jesus had said to His disciples on the night before He was crucified. He told them He was going to prepare a place for them, and that they knew how to get there. Thomas said, “Lord we don’t even know where you are going. How could we possibly know the way?” Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” Though many religions may say they “believe” in Jesus, they reject His claims to be the Son of God and our only Savior.
Ravi Zacharias grew up Hindu, and as a young man in India came to believe that Christianity is true, that Jesus was and is the resurrected Lord. He wrote in “Jesus Among Other Gods,” “All religions, plainly and simply, cannot be true. Some beliefs are false, and we know them to be false. So it does no good to put a halo on the notion of tolerance as if everything could be equally true. To deem all beliefs equally true is sheer nonsense for the simple reason that to deny that statement would also, then, be true.”
In other words, dear reader, it is not intellectually honest to say that a Christian and a Muslim (or a Hindu or a Zen Buddhist) pray to the same God or believe the same things about God. It is also not wise to claim that it really doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you are sincere. It matters. What we believe about God shapes our daily choices and determines our final destination.
Ravi Zacharias said it like this: “I came to Him because I did not know which way to turn. I remained with Him because there is no other way I wish to turn. I came to Him longing for something I did not have. I remain with Him because I have something I will not trade. I came to Him as a stranger. I remain with Him in the most intimate of friendships. I came to Him unsure about the future. I remain with Him certain about my destiny. I came amid the thunderous cries of a culture that has 330 million deities. I remain with Him knowing that truth cannot be all-inclusive.”
I urge you to examine the evidence for Christ yourself.

Every now and then, I hear a story that makes me smile and say, “I want to be like that!” Here’s one of my favorites.

A university professor was asked to speak at a military base one December, and a soldier named Ralph was sent to pick him up at the airport. After they had introduced themselves, they headed toward the baggage claim.

As they walked down the concourse, Ralph kept disappearing. Once he stopped to help an older woman whose suitcase had fallen open. Then he stopped to lift two toddlers up to where they could see Santa Claus. He paused again to give directions to someone who was lost. Each time he came back with a big smile on his face.

“Where did you learn to do that?” the professor asked.

“Do what?” Ralph said.

“Where did you learn to live like that? You have stopped to help three people with their problems, and to be honest, I didn’t even SEE them!”

“Oh,” Ralph said, “I learned that during the war, I guess.”

Then he told the professor about his tour of duty in Vietnam, about how he served with a mine detection unit whose job it was to clear territory of mines left by the Viet Cong. He spoke of how he had witnessed some of his buddies blown apart or maimed for life.

“I learned to live between the steps,” he said. “I never knew whether the next one would be my last, so I learned to get everything I could out of the moment between when I picked up my foot and when I put it back down again. Every step I took was a whole new world, and I guess I’ve just been that way ever since.”

The abundance of our lives is not determined by how long we live, but how well we live. Those who can say, “It is well with my soul” know what I mean. God created us for fellowship with Him, to enjoy Him and all He created between the steps, even when life deals us a bitter blow. The great hymn of faith, “It is Well With My Soul,” was written by Horatio Spafford in 1873 after Spafford learned that the ship that his wife and four young daughters were on had sunk in the Atlantic, and his daughters had perished. As he sailed from America to England to join his wife, and his ship arrived at the very spot where his daughters and 220 others had died at sea, he looked at the waters, and went to his cabin to pen these words:

“When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul.”

Some memories are permanently etched on our minds. Others fade with time. Everyone who is at least 18 years old remembers where he was on Tuesday morning, Sept. 11, 2001, when jetliners were flown into the World Trade Center. I was at college coffee at Elon, just after my 8 a.m. class, and oblivious to what had been taking place minutes earlier. Another professor mentioned the horror of it, and I asked her what she was talking about. Then I walked/ran back to the Communications building and watched with a group of 30 or so as the story unfolded before us on the plasma screen. A few students were crying, and when I found out they had relatives who worked in New York, several of us talked with them, to give comfort and to “weep with those who weep.”
I asked my college students last week how old they were when the terrorist attack happened, and most of them said they were in the first grade. I smiled and said, “When I was in the first grade, in Mrs. Miller’s class, our principal came over the intercom and let everyone in the school know that President John F. Kennedy, had just been shot in Dallas.” There was silence in the classroom for a second, and then one of the students said, “See? Bad things happen to us when we are in the first grade.” Well, that lightened the mood for a moment, but the thought lingered long after the laughter subsided: there are moments in all of our lives that shape us. Some are collective memories, as the day the terrorists attacked or the assassin struck or the space shuttle exploded. Others are personal memories.
I will never forget the moment when a camp counselor threw me off a dock. We were all swimming in the lake. Well, this little 8-year-old wasn’t, because I had not yet learned to swim. The counselor thought I was just being timid, so he decided to help me along with his form of shock therapy. He picked me up and said, “Let’s go Fox,” and threw me into the murky water. When I fought my way to the surface and spluttered, “I can’t swim!” the counselor had a totally different revelation about his technique. But I became a swimmer that day.
I will never forget getting the phone call at college that my grandfather had died. He wasn’t just my mother’s father. He was one of my best friends. As a teenager I liked nothing better than sitting under a dogwood tree in his front yard, talking about life, hearing his stories, and enjoying the love that we shared for each other. I became acquainted with grief that day.
I will never forget the moment when I met Cindy for the first time. We were both students at UNC, and though we lived in the same apartment complex, we had never met. Until a warm day in May of 1981. When a new friend took me to meet the four girls, I saw the others but not really. There was just Cindy, and though it was in the light of day, I could have burst into the Flamingo’s tune and crooned, “Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright, cause I only have eyes for you.” It’s good that I didn’t. That may have forever marred the memory for both of us. As it is, I found my lifelong companion that day.
There are moments that shape us. Through it all, there is a God who loves us.

It happened in an instant. The accused was giving a defense for his actions, saying that he had a clear conscience about all that he had done, when the order came from the back of the room to strike him on the mouth. The blow was struck, and with bloody mouth the prisoner cried out, “God will strike you, you white-washed wall!”

There are several surprises in this story. First, the prisoner was none other than Paul, the first century Christian apostle. It is surprising because his reaction seems so…normal. That may shock us because we sometimes pretend that Bible characters, like Paul, Peter, Moses and Elijah, were all holy men who never sinned. No, they were human, just like you and me. They put their pants on one leg at a time. They lost their temper, got depressed, and struggled with doubts and fears.

Another surprise in this story is that Paul didn’t know the man he insulted was the high priest. Some have suggested that it was dress-down day in the court, and the high priest was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Funny, but not possible. There are many theories, so let me suggest the most plausible: Paul was extremely near-sighted. Remember he wrote to the Galatians, “See with what large letters I am writing to you with my own hand.” Maybe so he could see what he wrote? He also told the Galatians that he knew they would gladly have taken out their own eyes to give to him. It is possible, then, that Ananias was standing against a far wall, dressed in his white priestly vestments, and Paul just saw a white blob.

Alistair Begg wonders if later that evening, when Paul was trying to go to sleep, he replayed that scene and asked again for the Lord to forgive him, and perhaps wrote in his journal, “O wretched man that I am…the things I want to do, I don’t do. The very things I don’t want to do, I end up doing. Who will rescue me from this body of death?”

We do know this for sure. When Paul was perhaps at his lowest point, having been beaten nearly to death by an angry mob twice in as many days, and after having lashed out at the high priest, and while sitting under guard in a Roman barracks, Jesus appeared.

The posture Jesus took was important. He stood by Paul. To the casual observer in the courtroom that day, Paul had taken the stand all alone. But he was never alone. Jesus was there. Jesus reminded Paul, and you and me as well, that no matter how hard the trial, He is there. Not only that.

The prompting Jesus gave was important. He said, “Take courage.” That’s what Paul needed then, and that’s what we need now. We need the courage that can only come from the Lord. That’s what He offers to Paul, and to us. But that’s not all Jesus did.

The promise Jesus made was vital. He said to Paul, “for as you have testified to the facts about Me in Jerusalem, so you must testify also in Rome.” Just when he needed His assurance the most, the Lord showed up to assure him that not only would he survive Jerusalem, but he would also testify about Him in Rome. The journey Paul took, and the one we take, will not be easy. But we will make it. God doesn’t guarantee safe passage, but He promises that all who endure to the end will make it to the other shore.

Nine-year-old Joey was asked by his mother what he had learned in Sunday school. “Well, Mom, our teacher told us how God sent Moses behind enemy lines on a rescue mission to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. When he got to the Red Sea, he had his engineers build a pontoon bridge, and all the people walked across safely. He used his walkie-talkie to radio headquarters and call in an air strike. They sent in bombers to blow up the bridge and the Egyptian army, and all the Israelites were saved.”

“Now, Joey, is that REALLY what your teacher taught you?” his mother asked. “Well, no, Mom, but if I told it the way the teacher did, you’d never believe it!”

The temptation to change the story of the Gospel to make it either more exciting or less offensive is one we in the church have all struggled with. Even Paul the apostle may have been tempted to do that in Jerusalem when he was attacked by an angry mob. Given the chance to speak to them before the Roman authorities carried him away, Paul spoke about his journey from strict Pharisee to follower of Christ. He told the truth, starting with the fact that he was a Jew like his listeners, but unlike many of them, he had received the privilege of being trained at the feet of Gamaliel. That would have resonated with the crowd, much like hearing someone say today that he received a PhD from an Ivy League school. Paul also told them that he was once a persecutor of Christians, dragging them to prison, even consenting to their executions. Then the story took a turn, as Paul described his conversion that clearly came from heaven. He did not go looking for Jesus, but Jesus came looking for him. He was blinded by a light from heaven, and heard the voice of the resurrected Christ from heaven. He called Jesus “Lord” that day, and was led by the hand into Damascus where three days later he received his commission from God to go and be a witness. Ananias told Paul, “The God of our fathers appointed you to know His will, to see the Righteous One and to hear a voice from His mouth; for you will be a witness for Him to everyone of what you have seen and heard.”

Notice what is missing from this story that has often been added by those today who want to rewrite it. Jesus did not appear to Paul and say that he was fine in his Jewishness and just needed to be nicer to people and try to get along with everyone, no matter what their faith journey happened to be. Jesus did not “cross over to Paul.” He clearly invited, even commanded, that Paul cross over to Him. Paul would go on to write 13 New Testament books, and make statements like this: “But whatever gain I had (as a Jewish Pharisee), I counted as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”

Paul crossed over to Jesus and then spent the rest of his life telling others, no matter what their faith or religion happened to be, that they must do the same. He preached the Gospel to the Greeks, the Hebrews, the barbarians, the aristocrats, the slaves, and the free. Had the Islam religion existed in Paul’s day, I have no doubt he would have preached the Gospel to them, too.

The story cannot be changed. It is the power of salvation to all who believe.