Walter's Blog

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Disclaimer: This is an article for the upcoming Every Nation online magazine. Actually, I hesitate to post these ideas because of an uncomfortable gap between what I write and what I have the disciple each day to do. Nonetheless, here's my perspective on making disciples with the idea of laying foundations vs cultivating rootedness; on doctrine vs discipline.

Almost everyone feels compelled to write down some new years resolutions. But how many can find that piece of paper or remember those resolutions 12 months later? More importantly, how many feel as compelled to write down their year-in-review?

I did both yesterday but have always felt the year-in-review was far more important. 

I adopted that idea from my grandfather (technically my great great grand father), John A. Taylor. Around December 31 each year, he would write In his diary a summary of the trial and blessings of the previous year, and of course, would give much thanks to God and would often renew his commitment to Him. That is how I know so much about his life and faith as well as the lives and faith of his parents, grandparent, aunts, uncles, and cousins. 

What does the Bibles say about resolutions? The first thing that comes to minds are the words of James (4:13-15): 

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit."Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that." But as it is, you boast in your arrogance; all such boasting is evil.

Well, I did write down a few goals for 2011, but I am not doing much boasting about fulfilling them--to little knowledge about things I cannot control and to much knowledge about myself. My new year's list contains a few things already in progress and a prayer list of things beyond my control. 

Concerning the year-in-review, there are a lot of places in Bible (particularly the Old Testament) where God charged people to write down and remember what He had done for them so that they could tell it to their children, so that they would not forget what He had done for them and their family. See blog on Thanksgiving Rocks

So, I'm kind or upside down on whole new year's resolution thing. Some of those resolutions people are so compelled to make are merely statements of dissatisfaction with their lives as they are. I consider it more important to record God's blessing in my life in 2010 than my hopes for 2011-- to record them in a way and in a place that one day maybe my great, great grand children will read about the faithfulness of God in the life of some old guy who was thinking of them way back in then. 

Walt Walker 

Franklin, TN

Cleaning up my home office this afternoon, I came across a poem. When I was Editorial Director at Creation House Books, we had a Managing Editor who (thankfully) obsessed over things being correct. At times I thought that before even seeing it on the manuscript page, this editor could feel the presence of a typo, misplace comma, or some obscure violation of the Chicago Manual of Style. Having learned that I could make an impression by a thoughtful gift (and avoid actually spending money), I wrote a poem as a birthday present.

So, to all those would must constantly correction my typos (Linda, Bill, Suzanne, et al) and to all those editorial perfectionists (I confess I will never be one of you), this is one of my (understandable rare) ventures into poetry.

A Poem
By Walter Walker
November 19, 1992

Who can believe it; A year has past
Since a poem to my editor was written last?
And what can I write on such a great day
To express the things we all would say?

A long time ago in a far away land
To publish some books a company began.
Since the goal of the owners was to glorify God,
A search for an editor was the number one job.

Searching for one to wear such a hat,
One had this problem, the other had that.
They interviewed five hundred, then a thousand, then two,
For only the gifted with God’s calling would do.

For the authors they chose to further their cause
Could compose not a sentence without a few flaws.
Yes, they had great heart filled with spiritual might,
But the facts they had faced—none of them could write.

So to find such a one so graciously blessed,
A plan was devised, a format-able [sic] test.
The ten who remained and still had a shot
In turn came to town, interviewed for the slot.

And this is the great test that they did devise
To find God’s anointed who is faithful and wise.
Under each of the beds, seven book they did lay
And waited to see what would happen by day.

Each hopeful who came slept all the night through
And was told on the morrow, “Call us not; we’ll call you.”
Until the last one did visit their town,
And longing for sleep that night did lay down.

Though weary and tired from a journey so long,
No rest could she find for something was wrong.
She tossed and she wiggled as a fish that was netted;
She ached in her joints, and she burped and she sweated.

“What can it be?” to herself she then said.
I put out the cat, and my birdies are fed.
Suffering that night she could stand it no more;
She rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor.

And there by the light of the moon that did shine,
Seven large books underneath she did find.
Discerning she cried, “That’s it! Oh, of course!
Of my torment this night, these books are the source!”

Searching for typos, she found not a trace,
Then on the last page, a comma misplaced.
Calmly arising to find her red pen,
A squiggle, an insert, and she made the amend.

Then climbing to bed, her face wore a smile.
All was right in her world and with Chicago in style.
They awaited next morning, the results from their test.
Would the last one pass, or should they settle for less?

“How was you mattress?” they all said together.
Startled she answered, “It was soft as a feather.”
Their faces fell as they considered their fate;
“But the books underneath… they kept me up late.”

They danced for joy, now finding the one.
Their search for an editor was finally done.
So the moral of the tale of the editor’s quest:
When hiring employees, always look for the best.

To find those who are faithful,
Through many you sift;
And when looking for an editor,
Find the one with the gift.

Walt Walker
Franklin, TN

P.S.  Whenever I try to write a serious poem, it always comes out sounding like Twas the Night Before Christmas. Oh well, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Feel free to send comments about typos and punctuation errors in my poem to bounce@URAperfectionist.com.

2010 has been both a happy and sad year. Sad because two of my mentors died—men who shaped the direction of my life as a high school and college student. A happy year for so many reasons, including the great memories of Mr. Harbert Thornton and Mr. Bob McAdoo and the belief that I will certainly see them again. There are several aspects of this little story that make me think it appropriate to share with Every Nation folk.

Not long after I became a Christian (junior year in high school), Mr. Harbert invited me to be a part of the youth team for a Methodist Lay Witness Mission (LWM) in some little town in Mississippi. I remember that first LWM because the track coach forgot that I told him about being gone that weekend. I cared little about track. I was one of those football players who got recruited. Reminding the coach of the upcoming trip, he replied, “Son, I’m gonna to play like I didn't hear you say that.” I remember talking Mr. Harbert who simply said, “The enemy of the best is the good.” First time I had ever heard that.

I went on the LWM, God moved, lots of kids got saved, and the next week everyone wanted to know why I had been kicked off the track team. My first persecution!

I’ve never met a man quite like Mr. Harbert Thornton. See the blog I wrote about him when a few months ago.

Mr. Harbert owned a cattle sales barn on edge of town – Brownsville, TN. Mr. Bob McAdoo was the owner-operator of McAdoo Building Supply in Union City, 11 miles from the Univ. of Tennessee at Martin. Mr. Bob picked where Mr. Harbert left off. He was a member of the Gideons and, like Mr. Harbert, a LWM coordinator.

There was big revival on the UTM campus that began the spring before my fall arrival. Over the next few years UTM students went with Mr. Bob, Mr. Harbert, and their friends all over the southeastern U.S. as the youth team for laymen revivals. We would just pray, give our testimonies, and challenge kids to give their lives to Christ. I counted it up while sitting in class my senior year. By the time I graduated from UTM, I had been 72 weekend revivals—as a tag along, as rookie, as a song leader, as a veteran, and eventually as a youth team leader.

Back then there was no real organization, just relationships. Technically, we reserved rooms on campus as InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. After about two years, an IVC staff guy came to visit. The way I remember it, we included him in one of our less-than-orderly "charismaniac" prayer meetings. He left the next day, and we never saw him again.

Being the “Unorganized Christian Fellowship,” we had no foundation class, no leadership training programs, no materials, and no money. Our discipleship training was similar to the kind you give when you teach swimming by throwing a person into the deep end. When someone would get saved on campus, we would give them a Bible, tell them to read the Gospel of John, and sign them up to give their testimony at the next dorm devotional or to do the same as a team member on the next lay renewal weekend youth team.

I’m typically not into reminiscing or romanticizing about the good ole days, but HERE’S THE POINT FOR EVERY NATION CHURCHES AND EVERY NATION MINISTRIES.  Here were two laymen, way past the point relating to college students by simply being cool. But they loved college students, thought we could do no wrong (or at least made us think so), and continually empowered us to do great things for Christ. As a result, it was only natural for most of us to go into the ministry. We went on to win students who went onto become ministers who won other students who became ministers who won other students who…

Of all the preachers, teachers, apostles, and prophets—no one has had a greater impact on my life than Mr. Harbert Thornton and Mr. Bob McAdoo. My appreciation is summed up by a line in the article I wrote about Mr. Bob when he died this week:

“I've told this to my wife and kids, but I will tell them again… I’ll tell my little grand kids too. ‘When I was in college, there was a man named Bob McAdoo, and he really made a difference in my life. I wished then that I could be more like him. I still do.’" 

Get involved helping Every Nation Ministries reach out to college students.

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

Other Walt Walker articles: 

Mr. Bob (totally awesome) McAdoo

COULDN'T BE BETTER: The Last Thing I Learned from Mr. Harbert

Walking through Merridees (the bakery and coffee shop that used to be a hardware store but is now the hangout of bloggers, tourists, musicians, native Frankliners, and people waiting to walk across the street to appear before the judge)… whenever I walk through there someone will ask, "Morning, Walter; how are you?"

If I have the presence of mind to do so, I always try to avoid the usual, "Fine."

I have found myself regularly saying, "Couldn't be better!"

Last year I was down in Brownsville, Tennessee where I grew up. I go there about a half dozen times a year. One afternoon, after visiting my mother at the assisted living facility, I went by Crestview nursing home to see some of my cousins, including Mr. Harbert and "Honey" Hayden Thornton. My relationship and connection to Harbert and Hayden is way too complex to describe (only relatives understand). Someone once commented to me, "You have a lot of cousins." I replied, "You have NO idea!"

On that afternoon I spent some time talking with Hayden. Just as I was leaving, Mr. Harbert began to wake up. He didn't exactly open his eyes or even turn over towards us—just stuck his hand up to signal that he knew that I (or someone) was there.

I said in an unusually loud voice, "Hello Mr. Harbert; how are you doing?"

The words were barely out of my mouth when I realized what stupid thing that was to say. One could go one for a long time about Mr. Harbert's ills and woes. And all I could think of to say was, "How are you?" But without opening an eye and without hesitation, Mr. Harbert replied, "COULDN'T BE BETTER!"

I left Crestview after visiting that day with cousin Lorraine, Hayden, and Mr. Harbert, feeling as I often did—like a rather shallow person.

My mother, cousin Lois, and three elderly cousins at Crestview (Ruth Taylor, Lorraine, and Harbert) all died last year. These were the people who created the world in which I grew up. I will miss them all, It was the last time I saw Mr. Harbert, and those were the last words I heard him say.

So, whenever someone asks, "How are you?" it is for me a personal attitude check. 

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

On the way home from a trip to Florida last week, Linda and I turned off Interstate 24 for some ribs at Sticky Fingers in downtown Chattanooga. About five years ago I was in Chattanooga doing background research for a book I was writing. Sitting at Sticky Fingers I made a remarkable discovery.

I had been up on Lookout Mountain with Hugh O. Maclellan searching through stacks of old letters. There was bedroom in the old family home where everything historical had been deposited (or dumped). This was a little like an archeological dig. What I was digging for were letters and papers relating to several generations of Maclellans, beginning with Thomas, the first to arrive from Scotland. Hugh O. is the current president of a family foundation that has maintained the original donor intent for 4-5 generations. More that unusual, that is quite extraordinary. Transferring faith and values to successive generations is not always an easy thing to do. In the back of my mind I was looking for a reason or reasons to account for the phenomena.

I gathered up big stack of papers — mostly photo copies of letters — headed back down the mountain, and settled into a booth at Sticky Fingers to read. Eventually, I worked my way down to a large manila folder, opened it, and found five sheets of very old paper with writing both sides. This was the person covenant of Thomas Maclellan.

I have been exposed to a lot of books, sermons, Bible studies, and conversations about repentance and Lordship, but truly this old piece of paper expressed it more powerfully than anything I have ever heard or read. Thomas had adopted some of the language from the writings of Philip Doddridge, a Puritan preacher of his day. At the bottom of the third page were these words:

"And if this should fall into the hands of any of my friends when I am in the dust may they make the engagement their own; and do Thou graciously admit them to partake in all the blessings of Thy covenant Though Jesus, the great Mediator of it. May they learn to fear the Lord my God, and with me to put their trust under the shadow of His wings, for time and for eternity. And may they also learn to adore with me that grace which inclines our hearts to enter into the covenant, and condescends to admit us unto it when so inclined, ascribing with me and with all the nations of the redeemed, to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, that glory, honor and praise which is so justly due to each divine person for the part he bears in this illustrious work! Amen."

It was signed: Thomas Maclellan, Sabbath Evening
7th June 1857" in Blairgowrie, Scotland.

At one point in my reading a waitress walked by — "Excuse me," I said; "Could you bring me some those little hand wipes." The contents of that folder demanded some careful handling, and I was up to my elbows in bar-b-que sauce.

I continued reading on the next page. Old Thomas had carried his covenant with him to North America and on his 50th birthday (7th June 1887) began the next page: "Thirty years have run their course since I put my hand to the previous covenant… It has been less of a reality than it ought, and yet I never destroyed the writing. I would not now desire to renounce the act. I would rather renew it."

At the end of a couple pages of passionate renewal, he signed the document and this time affixed his seal in wax.

Turning to back of the last page, the writing began again. This time the penmanship was more scratchy and erratic. It began with the place and date: "Chattanooga, Tennessee; 
June 7, 1907;
70th Birthday."
Old Thomas was at it again, renewing the covenant he has first written at age 20. The last line of the last page read like this:

"Twenty more years have been added to my life. I would remember the way by which I have been led all these 70 years; and for all Thy long suffering and tender mercies I would desire to thank Thee and praise Thy glorious name. There is much cause for humility as well as gratitude, for a fresh consecration of myself, my all to Thee. And I humbly desire Thy blessing as I now would renew these former covenants and add this fresh expression of my faith in Thee as my Triune covenant God, and of my desire to be enabled to be more Christ-like in heart and life. Oh! That Thou wouldst bless me indeed – me and mine – now and in the future, here and hereafter. Pardon all the past and accept of us in Christ and Thine shall be the glory forever. Amen. Amen. Amen. 
— Thomas Maclellan"

I had set out to dig up some kind of explanation for the multi-generational legacy of faith and Christian stewardship. I am sure their family had its ups and downs; trial and tribulations like all others. And I knew that I had no solid proof of anything here. We'll never know the impact of Thomas's covenant on future generations until all things are review and revealed on the last day. But in the back of my mind I was reminded how of an interesting idea —that the promises of God to one individual are often manifested in future generations. See the previous blog post on Life as an Epic, Not a Sitcom.

Of course, I couldn't wait to get back in touch with Hugh O. and family to tell them what I had found. It is interesting to note that it is was not that the family had simply misplaced Thomas's covenant. As it turned out, no one in the family, at least no one alive today, even knew that it existed.

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

www.WalterWalker.org

Read the entire Thomas Maclellan covenant

I have to admit, I really, really like mornings. Now that Daylight Savings Time had been imposed upon us, if I don't get going before 6:00 a.m., I feel something has been lost.

This morning I sat at Merridees drinking coffee. Merridees is an old hardware store converted to a bakery, restaurant, and coffee shop around 1986. Each day there is a marvelous collection of native Franklin residents, song writers and wantabe country music stars, local business owners, and small group Bible studies. When court is in session at the courthouse across the street, there is an invasion of dark suites with their clients tagging along behind. 

I spent few hours there this morning, first reading some Bible, then editing a chapter of Steve Murrell's book that I finished late last night. I spoke to a half dozen friends — locals who come in and out every day. Of course, I said hello to Alice who runs things at Merridees and Rick, the county historian who know everything about everybody. Wandered over to table to listen to yet more stories told by some long-time Franklin residents and one of the small town lawyers. It is a beautiful sunshiny day outside.

If I could figure out how to trade a week of afternoons and evenings for two more weeks of mornings, that would be grand. Any ideas on how to do that? 

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

I am sitting in a little coffee shop in a small rural town in West Tennessee. What brings me here is business related to my mother's estate, for which my sister, Kate, and I are co-executors. 

Technically, she is an " executrix," which sinisterly sound like a cross between and "executioner" and a "dominatrix." Last night Kate and I were going through old family pictures and artifacts — she has been here doing that for three weeks. Being the older sibling, she always knew this would be primarily her job (thank you God). So she has attacked it with great energy and enthusiasm.

Most of the stuff we have seen before, but surprises continue to emerge. Letters from Uncle Jack aboard the USS Gannet somewhere in the South Pacific during World War II. Photos and memorabilia from several generations for Walkers, Hillers, and Taylors.

Some decisions are easy — a bedroom suite goes to one granddaughter, silver and china to another, dad's wedding ring saved for his grandson, and so on. I got all the guns and ammo when dad died.

But what to with all the things that have value only because of the person to whom they once belonged? Stuff that is worth very little but absolutely irreplaceable.

For instance, there is a dusty old telegraph sounder like the one pictured. In the 1920s when my dad was boy, he and Paxton Mann wired together a series bobbed wire fences and talked to each other across town using Morse code. Other than the fact I know that, it's a piece of junk.

There is a cannon ball fragment that has been in the big cedar chest for longer than we can remember. We could probably sell it on Ebay for $5.00. However, it was the projectile that wounded my great grandfather, John Kerr Walker, at the Battle of Petersburg  and finally removed him from the Civil War.  Remember the battle scene at the beginning of the movie, Cold Mountain? That was Petersburg. John K, as we have always known him, enlisted in the N.C. 6th Infantry CSA and participated in all the battles from the First Bull Run to Gettysburg and back. He was eventually promoted to sergeant, which meant he was leading some of these crazy assaults, and was wounded three times. That our family didn't end in the mid-1860s is a wonder beyond my understanding.

When the last parent lives to be 90, the children tasked with cleaning out the house are usually not in a collecting mode. They have already begun to downsize themselves. We are definitely keeping that cannon ball fragment. However, there are a hundred things that are equally irreplaceable but much harder to decide upon — throw it away (oh my!) or store it all for another generation (OHHHHH MY!).

I remember Uncle Jack. Of course, I never met John K, though I do well remember three of his children (my grandfather and two great aunts). My children know only little about them. My grandchildren will know even less. For the most part, they will become merely names on a genealogical chart.

So standing here at one of life's cathartic moments, I am looking back at stuff from two or three previous generations and thinking about what will have value to my six little grandchildren and their children (writing this is making me feel so very old). I have three thoughts about all this:

1.  Story gives inherited stuff its value. The silver spoon engraved with A.B.T. (Ann Bingle Peete Taylor) only has significance if you know something about her. Otherwise, it is just a spoon.

2.  Family is more about story than blood. The Taylor side of my family has spent an enormous amount of effort collecting, recalling, and celebrating our common history. We have collected and republished diaries and family stories, we meet together in a week-long family camp meeting, and we've been doing it every year for the last 182 years. After so many years, some of my "closest" relatives are 5th cousins twice removed. Some of my closes "cousins" technically are not related at all. The point is that common DNA does not matter nearly as much as the fact that we have shared, celebrated, and sensed ourselves to be a part of a common family story. It's not easy to explain that part of my family. In the rare times that I make the attempt, I am often asked how that tradition has been maintained for so many year. My answer is, "A little blood, some good story telling, and a whole lot of showing up."

3.  Story is more important than stuff. Kate and I are in full agreement on this one thing. We would take the spindle bed of great aunt Minnie's (one of the first to arrive in Haywood County after the Civil War), my grandfather's incredible gold pocket watch, pieces of furniture passed down through several generations, various other valuable and sentimental memorabilia… we would take those and trade them in without hesitation for a diary of John K that recounted what it was like for 17-year old kid during the Civil War, as well as, his reasons for and feelings about leaving his family in North Carolina to come to Haywood County. Or to better know the story of my mother's childhood struggles, which she never talked about. Or to know more about our grandmother, Octavia, who died giving birth to our dad.

People work very hard with lawyers and financial planning professionals to efficiently transfer their stuff to future generations. And well they should. However, the greatest thing we can pass on to future generations is the witness and story of our own lives. Our life at the time might not seem sufficiently incredible to demand that the story be preserved. Perhaps that is why so few keep dairies. But think of your life as a single chapter rather than the entire book. Who knows where the story is headed. Your chapter or mine might one day provide a background to a much bigger and grander tale.

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

Ever thought about what you would say if you had to conduct the graveside service at your mother's funeral? That is what my sister and I did last weekend. For those of you who knew "Miss Coleen," what I had to say is below:

Thank you for coming today as we commit our mother, our grandmother, your cousin, your friend, Coleen Walker, to the grave. I want take just a few minutes to share with you a few of my thoughts on the testimony she has left for me, for our family and, since all of you knew her, for you. To me the witness of mom's life is like this rock, not because the rock is hard but because it's smooth.

I would like to read 1 Peter 1:6, which is in some ways, one of my least favorite passages in the Bible.

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith (of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire) may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

Now, I really like the part about the gold, the glory, and Christ being revealed; but I, for one, am in no hurry to sign up for the fire and the suffering part. I just figured that you don't have to look for a way to suffer. If you live long enough, it will find you.

Mom lived long time and more and more, suffering was finding it way to her. She was experiencing some of the aches and pains of being 90 years old. But more than that, her suffering was defined in terms of loss.

She did indeed have some great losses early on. She lost her father before she ever knew him. As a child she also lost her beloved older brother, Coleman. But it was in the last dozen years that the losses really began to mount up.

She lost our dad in 1997. As she got older, and her health began to fail, she lost her ability to live alone. She lost the ability to drive. Lost the ability to go to church and attend her Sunday School class.

More significantly to her was that she progressively lost the ability of to do for others. Thomas Callary and I were talking last night about the hospitality committee at the Presbyterian Church. They would create things for her to do so that with her diminishing capabilities she could still feel like she was helping in some small way. Eventually, she had to tell them that she just couldn't do it any more either.

She couldn't send those frequent checks to her children and grand children. Those little gifts that paid for a lot of gas money. They gave her grandchildren some pocket money in college. She would always say, "Take this and go get yourself something."

Her loss of mobility meant that she couldn't get out to buy presents. She lost the ability to write legibly. In one of her last little note she wrote, "If you can't read this then just make something up." (We were already making things up).

Recently, her voice became very week. Though she could mentally process things, the wheels were not turning as quickly. So she was losing the ability to have long conversations.

Over the last few years the loss of her ability to do for others came to crystallized in one single annual event – one that she had the hardest time surrendering to. Each year leading up to camp meeting, there would be the mounting issue of the spinach casserole (lots of laughs). 

As time went on, she was losing the ability get up and get around by herself, and even the ability to even be by herself. Over the last few weeks she had sitters with her all the time.

So, suffering for mom was that her independence and her ability to do for others was progressively shrinking. And she did not like it a bit. She didn't like leaving the condo, she really hated that she had to depend on others to drive her. She didn't like sitters or anyone else telling her she couldn't get up, and she didn't physical therapist telling her she had to.

The greatest witness of mom's life to me is that every time she faced new level of loss, things she had long feared and dreaded. And by the way, she had fear and fretted about those possibilities for years. Many of you know that worry was my mother's love language. Every time she faced new level of those things she had feared and dreaded, she accepted it with great grace, never complaining, simply surrendering to a new dimension of loss.

The final surrender came less than week ago. She had been in the hospital for several days in Jackson. I had been with her a few day and left when Kate arrived. When it came time be discharged, Kate had to say,

"Mom, you can't go back to Sugar Creek (assisted living facility). First, you have to go to rehab to see if you regain enough strength." As she had always done, mom, just surrendered and quietly said, "Okay."

Mom surrendered to a lot of things, but it wasn't because she didn't have any fight in her. When they told mom she was going to be taken to Jackson hospital instead of Haywood Park, she was ready to fight the whole Sugar Creek staff, the EMTs, and anyone else willing to participate in such an outrageous idea.

Even though we knew how much she loved her friends here, the time was coming quickly when we would have to move mom to Franklin where Linda and I, Jeff and Anna live. I had envision driving her to Franklin and her dying the moment we crossed the Haywood County line.

I don't completely understand how this suffering thing perfects you. I would much prefer to be perfected by reading a book about it. But I do know one thing about suffering -- It reveal what is really inside you. Create enough pressure, difficulties, tragedies, or just inconveniences and all kind of thing begin to go through your mind and sometime come out of your mouth.

Linda once told me after a day working or volunteering at an assisted living facility that as we get older, our true selves are revealed. People in advanced age no longer possess the ability, the energy, or concern to hide their true feelings. Whatever is inside is on full display.

Personally, that is a frightening thought to me because I have many rough edges, so many sharp and prickly little things.

And that is why mom reminds me of this rock. Not because she was hard, but because she had no rough edges. She was the kindest and the sweetest person you would ever meet. The smallest thing you would do for her was so appreciated. In all that she went through, she never, never complained. She just didn't have it in her to do it.

One last thought, my mother as I knew her over the last 15 years was not exactly the same person I remember growing up. I asked Kate yesterday, "When we were growing up, did you remember people talking to you about how sweet and kind mom was?" Neither one of had any recollection of such a thing. Yet, over last dozen years, I have not been able to drive through Brownsville without people flagging me down to tell me how sweet and wonder mom is/was and how much they loved her.

Mom was essentially the same person she had always been but in many ways she was a transformed person. I remember her in here 30s and 40s as being very kind but also very reserved, very practical, very emotionally conservative person. Yet, she became this kiss-you-on-cheek, hung-your-neck, I-love-you-so-much person. 

Philippians 3:7-11

But whatever things were gain to me, those things I have counted as loss for the sake of Christ. More than that, I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but rubbish so that I may gain Christ, and may be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own derived from the Law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which comes from God on the basis of faith, that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death; in order that I may attain to the resurrection from the dead. 

Walt Walker

Brownsville, TN

October 10, 2009

As far as things that I picked up in grad school that I can apply to Christian discipleship, this is one of the most profound. It is not a quick and easy thing to explain, thus the painfully long (1,000-word) megablog. It even has a little bit of unavoidable academic language here and there. However, every Christian parent and youth worker ought to understand the concept of  Inoculation Theory.

The term "brainwashing" was introduced in the 1950s as an attempt to explain why many captured American GIs had been persuaded by the North Koreans to denounce their country and the ideals for which it stood. Surprisingly, the most persuasive interrogators never used punishment but long debates with skillfully crafted questions. Though the average soldier believed in democracy, capitalism, and individual liberties, they were not very good at defending against attacks at the foundation of those ideas (another reason for the importance of teaching foundations). And once an American soldier admitted the slightest doubt about his previously unquestioned beliefs, the journey to treason was only a matter of time.

Inoculation Theory, develop by Dr. Wm. McGuire in 1961, used a medical analogy to illustrate a powerful communications principle. The analogy is used explain how measured attacks against commonly held beliefs actually make those beliefs stronger.

The medical analogy is simply this: Introducing a small amount of a disease into your body causes the body's defense mechanism to create antibodies to fight off the intruders. The process is called inoculation.

The same is true with "cultural truisms," i.e. commonly held ideas that are rarely if ever attacked. For example: "You should brush your teeth after every meal," or "mental illness is not contagious." How about these counter truisms (lies): "God hates Christians," "It is rude and uncaring to deny sex to anyone who asks," or "suicide is really fun."

The lies sounds ridiculous, right? Not even worth discussing.

Inoculation Theory suggests that cultural truisms are especially vulnerable for two reasons: 1) the "believer" has no practice in defending the belief, and 2) the believer is not motivated to undertake the practice.

By introducing a small dose of an opposing argument, we tend to "gear up" to defend their commonly held beliefs. Pair that opposing argument with a quality supporting argument, and the defense mechanism is strengthened further. In keeping with the medical analogy, too weak of an opposing argument and no defenses are formed. Too strong of an opposing argument and the patience catches the disease (i.e. they abandon their belief). It has also been noted that the increased ability to defend a previously unchallenged belief can be generalized to other beliefs. In other words, being inoculated against one opposing argument enable the individual to refute other similar arguments.

There are dozens other variables that are a apart of inoculation studies such as the types of supporting and counter-arguments, timing of the pair arguments, context, personal relevance, etc. But that is the general idea.

In a one-question comprehensive exam at the Univ. of Central Florida, we asked to outline a 45-minute presentation to a particular group using one communications theory. I chose to write a presentation to a group of future youth workers at a Bible College on the importance of Inoculation Theory.

You may have heard the old adage about the best way to identify a counterfeit dollar bill is not to study the counterfeits but simply to study the characteristics of an authentic dollar. That is a nice analogy. However, the greatest challenge kids face today is not sorting out the various expressions of the Christian faith to decide where the boundaries of orthodoxy lie; the greatest challenge is an attack against the Christian faith par se. 

I wish I had a copy of that comp exam. I think I received some revelation knowledge trying to answer the question. As I recall the reasons for an inoculation approach were basically these:

1) Isolating young people or young Christians from attacks to their faith does them no good service. I am aware of too many examples of kids from sheltered environments backsliding as soon as they leave their quarantine and their beliefs are attacked. A measured exposure to opposing arguments along with quality supporting and counter-arguments helps build their intellectual defenses and gives them the confidence that answers to challenges can be found even if they don't know them at the time. Kids need to learn to wrestle with tough questions before they are thrown into life and death struggle for their faith.

2) A key word in #1 is "measured." We do not want our children or our disciples to become pugilistic arguers, looking to pounce on the first person who disagrees with them. It is easy and tempting to exchange the virtues of knowing God, loving God, and loving others with a goal of winning an argument.

3) This is a great challenge, especially to Christians who have grown up in environment where their faith has never been challenged. Having never geared up to defend, they tend react to challenges by increasing degrees of isolation, rather than seeing an attack as the opportunity to strengthen faith.

4) Emerging from the protection of a Christian environment into the battle of ideas used to mean leaving home and going to college. Now the first attacks comes in elementary school or before. Though many churches and youth groups introduce some measure of apologetics to high school students, we have not responded to the changing attack. If the church trained its members to defend their faith based on where the attack is being focused, we would be introducing a measure of inoculation at a very early age. Most Sunday school and youth material contains only supportive arguments; nothing that would inoculate or gear them up to defend. That approach seems to assume there is no battle for their faith until they are teenagers. In many cases the church may be equipping children with felt board cuts outs illustrating how Jesus loved the little children while the secular world is creating multi-media, sophisticated attacks on every element of faith and morality. And those attacks are aimed at children, many of whom have not been prepared for the assault. No wonder we are losing so many.

We Need Not Despair

Have you every noticed how much more afraid of modern secular culture Christian parents and grandparents are than younger Christians. Some of that can be attributed to being older and wiser. It is also partly due to the fact that kids are ones facing the battle, and they are the one who sense the grace of God to fight it. We simply need to help our kids put on the armor of God. Only a little bit of inoculation and they will gear up for the battle more than you can imagine.

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

 

 

This is another brief excerpt from a foundation class I taught to college student last summer (2009). In this particular class I found myself teaching not just important foundations but the importance of teaching foundations. I was not so subtly suggesting that the best gig in the church is the foundations class because that is where your life and words can have the greatest impact.

The apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians:

"According to the grace of God which was given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and another is building on it. But each man must be careful how he builds on it. For no man can lay a foundation other than the one which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each man's work will become evident; for the day will show it because it is to be revealed with fire, and the fire itself will test the quality of each man's work" (1 Cor 3:9-13).

It is very easy to begin constructing extensions to our spiritual house that "technically" still rest on the foundation of Jesus Christ but hang far out over the foundation. Below is an example of such a creative building project:

Proposition #1:  God loves us so much that he sent his son to die for us.

Prop #2:  I am now a child of God and ambassador for his kingdom.

Prop #3:  God want to show the world through us how much he loves them.

(Building project is going petty well so far.)

Prop. #4: We are heirs to all the promises of God

Prop. #5: Where God guides, he provides.

Prop. #6: We are to be the head not the tail.

(And so on, and so on until..) 

Prop. #12: It is God's will is for me to be rich.

Prop. #13: If you really want God to heal you, you need to give $XXX to my ministry.

Prop. #14: My minimum fee for preaching at your church is $30,000, a limo, a five star hotel, and a green room with…

To me (as it would be to those who taught foundations to me) propositions #12 through #14 are absurd. However, people who actually believe those things didn't begin there. One thing was built upon another until their faith and spiritual house took on that configuration. Eventually, what they built extended so far out beyond the original foundation that the concept (i.e. prop #14) could no longer be supported. It's just too far out there. The two options at that point were: 1)  demolish that portion of the building, or 2) create some other type of additional support. See the illustration above.

And there it is – right there. Your church, your faith, or your life (represented by what you have built) has come to be founded upon and supported by something other than Jesus Christ. This is precisely the kind of thing that (as Paul said) will be tested by fire at the last judgment.

Though a new believer will remember few details of your foundation class ten years down the road, foundation classes taught thoughtfully and passionately will impart a kind of moral compass or plumb line. Even though the details of your teaching points may be forgotten, what remains is a discernment or sense of what is right and true (i.e. "true" as in straight, true, and plumb), an inner alarm that tell you that you are building outside the foundation.

Let's hear a big "hoo-rah" for the foundation classes.

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

Last weekend we celebrated my mother's 90th birthday with a big party. From 2:00 to 4:00 pm 60-75 people the small town where I grew up filed in and hung out with mom at the Sugar Creek assisted living facility, which is now her home.

Mom is a real trooper and one of the sweetest people you will ever meet, equaled only by my wife who organized and a produced the whole thing for her mother-in-law. Thanks to her, we didn’t let such an important moment pass without extraordinary celebration.

Note to young guys – marry up!

Walt Walker

Franklin, Tennessee

Picture: Coleen Walker, grand-children and great-grandchildren. 

Left to Right back: John Walker (our son, college senior, and kid favorite), Coleen Walker (mom), Anna Walker Wood (oldest daughter), Jennie Walker Falletti (middle daughter). 

Front: Wood and Falletti grandkids

    Many years ago a man gave me a scripture verse as a prophetic word (i.e. he felt God had inspired him to share a verse as a specific message from God to me). It was kind of like a text message from God — short, cryptic, to the point, not a lot of explanation.

    The verse was Jeremiah 29:11: "I know the plans that I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope."

    I have always thought that to be such a beautiful and comforting passage; until that is a couple of months ago when a Methodist seminary professor speaking at our family's annual camp meeting popped that bubble.

    The context of that passage from Jeremiah is this: Israel and Judea had been invaded and many of the people had been carted off to Babylon as slaves, Jeremiah among them. As in so many such occasions, there were the prophets of doom and judgment, as well as the prophets proclaiming that there was going to be a great and mighty move of God to save them.

    Finally Jeremiah weighed in with (what in time proved to be) the real word from the Lord. He said several things in the first 11 verses of chapter 29.

    1) all those prophesying about eminent deliverance, prosperity, and victory were actually false prophets;

    2) you Jews should settle in, plant your gardens and build your houses in Babylon because your not going anywhere;

    3) since you are going to spend the rest of your lives in Babylon and will raise you children there, make a difference where you are, pray for and seek the welfare of Babylon because your welfare of that pagan city will be your welfare.

    4) Finally Jeremiah says that God has plans to give you a future and a hope (29:11) because after you are dead and buried, you children will return to Zion and Jerusalem will be restored.

     A future and a hope after I'm dead… never really thought about future and hope in that context.

    Jeremiah's prophetic message is sobering but insightful. God sees a bigger picture, a much bigger picture. There are at least two things we can learn from this story of promise and fulfillment.

    1) The story God is telling is like a epic novel that transcends many generations. We are used to stories on screen that begin and end in 30 minute to 2-hour time frames. In that span of time the scene is set, the problem arises, and the situation is resolved. Similarly, we tend to think of the God's promise and fulfillment within the context of our own lifetime. Obviously, that's not the way God is telling His story. It was not that way with Jeremiah's generation, nor with Abram and his seed, nor with the Children of Israel wandering in the wilderness, nor with the early church. And it may not be that way with you either. In each case mentioned above, the complete fulfillment of the God's promise to a person(s) was or will be fully realized in a future generation.

    2) The second thing to learn from Jeremiah's prophecy is that many of the blessings of our lives were promises fulfilled to previous generations.

    Obviously, if we want to think God's thoughts, discern God's will, understand God's purpose, we need to start looking at a bigger picture.

Walt Walker

Franklin, Tennessee

Last week I was in Manila for the 25th Anniversary of Victory Church. A phenomenal experience! Check out the short highlight video of Victory@25. I also got to speak at four of the Victory services. I told a few stories about Pastors Steve and Rice from the old days in Starkville and spoke on Rootedness. Since I never really got the day and night thing worked out during my brief visit, I had plenty of time to think about rootedness in the middle of the Manila nights. So here is an addendum to the previous blog.

Things rooted deeply in our hearts influence the way we perceive all other things; how we interpret, relationships, circumstances, comments, people's actions and intentions, as well as God's purpose for our lives. If we have a root of bitterness, immorality, greed, pride, narcissism (self-centeredness), disappointment, or fear, those embedded roots will in time reveal themselves. And those roots are most likely to show up in times of stress, disappointment, anger, boredom, fatigue, or isolation (times when no one is watching).

When little irritations or inconveniences bring on a disproportionate response, usually it is because the little thing has touched or activated the deeply embedded thing. "How have I come to know this deep truth?" you ask. It is because far too many times I have over-reacted to a little thing with anxiety, anger, or fear because the little thing touch some deeper thing buried in me from the past— a root of something or another. 

I wrote in the previous blog on rootedness, "It is hard to backslide from living out what is rooted in your heart." We always trend back toward our roots, especially in times of stress." The midnight illustration that came to me was the memory of an old car I used to drive. The front end was serious out of alignment and pulled hard to the right. Lose concentration for a moment or take my hands off the wheel, and that car would immediately veer off the road, heading straight for the ditch or, even worse, for some immovable object like a the telephone pole.

Most of us, especially those of us who are Christians, try very hard to keep our cars (that is, our lives) on straight and narrow. But in truth, we struggle with the steering wheel. Our lives are pulling hard to right, and if so, sooner or later we will head off in that direction. The apostle Paul talked about being "shipwrecked" with regard to one's faith. In my illustrations, I'll call it "car wrecked" with regard to faith.

Freedom in Christ is simply this: it is cruising down the highway with one hand on the wheel because your front-end is in alignment to where you want to go; no pulling to the right or the left. Victory in Christ doesn't mean you cannot choose turn away from your intended destination but simply means you don't have to fight with all you might to keep your life on course.

In the parable of the Sower, the weeds (cares of this life) choked out the seed (the word of God) that was trying to gain a foothold in the soil (the heart). The good news is that just as the weeds can choke out the Word, being rooted and grounded in God's Word can choke out the weeds.

So how do we get free from the roots that consistent pull our lives away from God's purpose? Should we cast those things down, lay them down, cast 'em out, choke 'em out, confess 'em, get some prayer, or get an accountability partner? If things rooted in your heart are pulling you hard away from following Christ, I recommend all of the above.

"If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free" (John 8:31-32).

Walt Walker

Franklin, TN

 

Julius, I love this photo from Victory@25 -- walter

Getting on a plane Tuesday morning for Manila and 25th Anniversary of the Victory church there. Haven't been to the Philippines in ages.

Loading up my MP3 player w/ audio books for the 40 hr round trip flight. This is my chance to take on "War and Peace" but have opted for some less ambitious undertakings --  C.S. Lewis Surprised by Joy, Pearl Buck's "The Good Earth," & "Thirteen American Arguments" by someone whose name escapes me.

In case these don't work, I am packing some sleeping pills.

Walt Walker