Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Happy New Year 2009!


As we prepare to "ring out" the old and "ring in" the new, I'm praying that you have a healthy, happy and spiritually prosperous new year!

While none of us fully knows what the future will hold, we DO know the One Who holds the future. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Because of His presence in our lives, we can face the coming year with confidence and assurance. For He has promised to never leave us nor forsake us.

May God bless you richly throughout this coming year
of our Lord two thousand and nine.

Pastor Danny

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Nativity Scenes: For God So Loved the World...

Sandy and I have always had nativity scenes in our home. At least one larger set on a table or mantle and a few smaller ones on our Christmas tree and/or scattered elsewhere throughout the house. Gradually, we started collecting them, one by one. And over the years, the number of our nativity sets has increased. We didn’t really intend to start a collection. It just sort of happened.

Our international mission trips became the primary impetus for this "hobby". We've always liked bringing back articles of remembrance from places we visit. And we've found that nativity sets are among the most meaningful items we can obtain.

It all started back in 1988. While in Tanzania (Africa) I happened upon a wood carver who was making and selling large nativity sets made out of dark, heavy ebony wood. The sets were quite impressive. The pieces were very large, the tallest human figures rising to about 10 to 12 inches in height. And there were 13 figures in all—shepherds, wise men, Mary and Joseph, baby Jesus, animals, and an angel. So it was a massive set, once arranged and displayed.

What most intrigued me about this work of art was the ethnicity of the figures. They were clearly African. An African Mary and Joseph, African magi and sheepherders, and an African baby Jesus in a manger! Typically, people have always tended to visualize Jesus through the lens of their own culture. For many Americans, that means seeing Jesus as a fair-skinned North American or European-looking male. And many of our manmade depictions of Jesus indeed render him that way. But Jesus actually came in the flesh as a Middle Eastern/ Jewish male. So our typical American perception of Jesus is no more accurate than that of the Africans. (Hence, we shouldn’t be so arrogant as to think we got it “right” and they got it “wrong”!)

But right then and there, in Tanzania some 20 years ago, was when I first started considering how intriguing (and precious) it was for various peoples of the world to envision the birth of Jesus against the backdrop of their own familiar cultural context. Because the Savior of the world indeed came for ALL of us.

I bought two identical ebony wood sets from the African vendor. After packing all of those heavy items and bringing them back to the States with me, I gave one of the sets to my parents as a gift. But the one we kept was destroyed when our home burned a few months later. So we lost it before we ever got to use it. Then, several years later, when my parents were downsizing and moving to a new home, they gave their set back to us. (They had tried to give it back much earlier, but we repeatedly had refused their offer.)

With the passage of time, Sandy and I collected other nativity scenes. A set from Honduras made out of brightly colored cornhusks. A simple three-piece, hand-painted wooden set from Ecuador. A beautifully crafted three-figure set from the Dominican Republic. (All of these reflecting a distinctive Spanish or Latin American flavor.) There’s also a simple olive wood nativity set from Israel. Plus, from Israel also, an olive wood Mary and child riding on the back of a donkey during their flight to Egypt. Sandy and I even have an unusual set we brought back with us from predominantly-Buddhist Cambodia, made by local Christian craftsmen there. All of these sets are hand-made. And each holds special meaning for us. For every time we look at them, we are reminded of the global scope of Jesus' redemptive mission.

The Bible frequently talks about the “nations”. When it does so, it’s not speaking of nations as we typically think of nations, i.e., political states. Rather, it’s referring to the various language groups, people groups, ethnic groups and racial groups that populate this planet. Jesus commissioned us to “Go and teach all nations…” And Jesus told us that before He comes again the Gospel “must first be preached to all nations.” So, God wants every unreached people group of the world to hear the good news of salvation in Christ prior to Jesus returning to gather up His own. Because someday, in Heaven, the Bible tells us that people from every tribe and every tongue will gather to worship the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. I truly look forward to that great day with anticipation and joy!

Whenever I look at our various nativity sets from around the world, it reminds me that Jesus came for people from every nation. It also reminds me we have a responsibility to take the Gospel to people of every nation. And it also reminds me that someday, around the Throne of God, we will worship together with Christian brothers and sisters representing every nation. Hallelujah! What a kaleidoscope of color and symphony of praise that will be! And what a beautiful testimony to the greatness of our God!

Hmm. When you think about it, it’s quite amazing what a little nativity set can teach you.

Pastor Danny

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

A Politician in a Pear Tree

It all started back in 1968. That was the first presidential election I really focused in on. I was an 11-year-old boy at the time, and it was that year that I became thoroughly enamored with the whole electoral process. While other kids my age were out enjoying the summer sun, I remember watching gavel-to-gavel coverage of both national nominating conventions on our black-and-white television. Later on in the fall, I began frequenting the local political campaign headquarters in my hometown. The Republican headquarters was a large storefront building, well supplied with buttons, brochures, posters, bumper stickers, and other essential campaign materials. I dropped by there several times. The young female volunteer that ran the place got so tired of seeing me. Finally, the weekend before the election, she told me that I had come in enough and she basically invited me not to come back. But, for all my efforts—I was there every time a new shipment of campaign materials came in—I came away with several different Nixon-Agnew items which I have to this day, including—my pride and joy at the time—a full-color reflector button that alternately displays Nixon’s smiling face and the memorable slogan “Nixon’s the One!” On top of everything else, I even signed up to be a Nixon volunteer! Ironically, I wouldn’t even be old enough to vote in a presidential election until 1976! But just prior to Election Day, I received a letter from the future president himself, thanking me for my vital support. You would have thought I was a key player in Nixon's great political comeback! (All of this was pre-Watergate, of course.)

The Democrat headquarters in our town back in ’68 was run virtually out of a shoebox in the tiny front lobby of a local business establishment. (There were only a handful of Democrats in the whole county then. Not nearly enough to fill a phone booth. I’m not being critical. That’s just the way it was.) After being interrogated—er, questioned thoroughly—by the local Democratic Party Chairman as to who my parents were and why I really wanted a Hubert H. Humphrey campaign button, I finally received from him a little star-spangled “HHH” pin, which I still have. I was grateful for it, but I never attempted to go back for more. That man just made me too nervous. I felt like I’d been to the principal’s office.

About that same time, my parents showed me an ad in a magazine wherein a political button collector was offering a special deal for anyone who wanted to get started in the hobby of collecting — 25 authentic presidential campaign buttons for just $5 (in 1968 dollars, of course). My dad ordered me a set. And that’s where it all started for me. Since then, sporadically, I have been a collector of political campaign memorabilia. In addition to visiting various campaign headquarters during election cycles, there were always flea markets, antique stores, and political collector conventions—yes, there are such things—not to mention the kind generosity of persons through the years who were cleaning out their attics and remembered that I had this bizarre hobby. (Incidentally, back in the late 1960s, some kind older gentleman that I never actually met gave me some of my oldest buttons—William McKinley and William Jennings Bryan buttons from the 1896 and 1900 campaigns, as well as an 1898 “Remember the Maine!” button, which was in reference to the sabatoge of a U.S. ship in Havana’s harbor that triggered the Spanish-American War. I also received an 1896 Joshua Levering photo button. Those of you that voted in that election will remember that the bald but mustachioed Levering was the Prohibition Party candidate for President that year. He didn’t win, by the way, in case you forgot.)

In the year 2000, my hobby took a new turn. In December of that year, Sandy and I found ourselves living in temporary housing for a few weeks, having just sold our first Florida home, while waiting to close on another. Thus, a lot of our Christmas decorations were packed away. So—with chads hanging all over Florida and the Bush-Gore presidential battle still undecided after Thanksgiving—it seemed like a novel idea that year to put up a political Christmas tree (bipartisan, of course) adorned with various buttons from my collection. That began a Davis family tradition that has continued to the present day. Since that time, we have always had a political tree in addition to our regular Christmas tree.

Along with its numerous presidential campaign buttons, our political tree is adorned with a number of other patriotic trimmings, as well as our growing collection of White House Christmas ornaments. (The White House Historical Association started issuing these ornaments on an annual basis in 1981, the year of our son Jordan’s birth, and we have all 28 of them to date.)

So, this blog is fair warning to you when you come to visit us during our Open House this Christmas. The first tree you’ll see when you enter our home will feature a whole lot more red, white & blue than it will red & green. And it won’t be adorned with traditional-looking angelic beings (unless you count the winged “Betsy Ross”-like figurine who sits at the top). Nor will it be decorated with images of tiny elves (unless you count my Dennis “Keebler” Kucinich buttons). Instead, you’ll see images of prominent political personalities as diverse as George Washington, George Wallace, and George W. And you’ll read colorful (if not exactly memorable) political slogans such as “The Grin Will Win!” (Jimmy Carter), “A Buck for Huck” (Mike Huckabee), and “You Go Girl!” (Sarah Palin). Not to mention the image of a smiling Santa Claus saying “Ho! Ho! Ho! Happy Howard Days! Dean for America” (Howard Dean). So, if after this excruciatingly long 2008 presidential race you feel like you can still muster up enough strength to endure all of these Ghosts of Presidential Campaigns Past, I hope you’ll elect to come and celebrate Christmas with us presidential style.

Pastor Danny

P. S. I'm Danny Davis and I approve this message.

Saturday, November 08, 2008

Jonah Returns!

Finally…I’m back at my old computer, blogging away once again after another long hiatus. Please understand that I’ve been quite busy since my last blog. It all started with a relaxing little boating excursion that I had planned to the coast of Tarshish, just to get my mind off things. I went down to the seaport with my travel brochures, I paid the fare, and then I settled back for what was supposed to be just a quiet and peaceful three-hour tour. At least that’s what the Skipper and Gilligan had told me. But then we ran into all kinds of trouble. It wasn’t long before I realized that this was no Carnival Cruise. A violent storm hit. The sea was raging. The boat was in danger of capsizing. And the experienced sailors were scared half out of their minds. (Not a good sign!) The next thing I knew, the Professor and Mary Ann had thrown me overboard, and I was sinking like a rock into the murky depths of the sea. Then, all of a sudden, I heard this enormous gulp. It quickly dawned on me that I was the gulpee. (In legalese, that’s the one that has been gulped). And, the next thing I knew, my travel itinerary had completely changed. For the next three days and three nights, I found myself lodged in this dark, damp, hot and slimy place. (These were not 5-star accommodations, to say the least. Just wait until hotels.com hears about this!) But, like the Hotel California, I soon learned this place was easy to check into but hard to leave.

Then, just as unexpectedly, I heard a loud belching sound and, with it, I found myself being propelled through the air like a missile, aimed in the direction of Nineveh, a place I never wanted to go. But when I landed on the beach, believe me, I hit the ground running, like the Allied troops at Normandy. Coated in seaweed and amino acids, and steeped in the aromatic fragrance of dead fish, I made an indelible impact on the Ninevites as I kicked off a lengthy preaching tour of their great city. (There were lots of conversions once they laid eyes on me!) Now, after all that—whew!—I’m finally back at my computer blogging again.

Actually, what prompted this particular blog was my recent appearance at our church’s annual Fall Festival. After preaching through the Book of Jonah earlier this fall, it was suggested that I portray Jonah for the kids on Halloween night. So, I put on my “biblical” costume which I hadn’t worn in more than ten years! (Last time I wore it was when I first grew my beard. I had a solo singing part in a large-scale Easter drama we did at my former church in Florida. Sandy had some reservations about whether I could still wear the costume. Hmmm, I didn’t realize that fabric actually shrunk with the passage of time. Fortunately, I could still wear my tunic and robe with room to spare.) I decided to color my hair this time, however. In my mind, I've always pictured Jonah with gray or white hair, either from aging, sudden trauma, or the digestive acids in the whale’s belly. So I went and bought an aerosol can of instant white hair color at Wal-Mart. (Some suspicious church member said they thought I might actually have washed out the color treatment I normally use and just went natural for a change! Some people can be so cruel, can't they?) Well, I sprayed this white stuff on. Man, was it sticky and stinky. And trying to spray it on my beard was a challenge. The big white cloud went up my nose, into my mouth and down my throat. (Cough! Cough!) I almost died of asphyxiation before I even got to the seaport at Joppa.

The Fall Festival folks had set up a Sunday School room for me that was supposed to represent a fish’s belly. And, throughout the night, as various trunk-or-treat-ers passed through, I would tell them a whale of a tale about my wild ride from Joppa to the bottom of the sea and back again. At one point, I was telling a group that I had a feeling that God soon would deliver me from my aquatic prison cell. I said that I had felt the whale’s stomach rumbling a bit and I warned them that I might come spewing out at any minute. One little tyke immediately ran and hid behind his mother, imagining the worst and wanting to avoid being hit by the coming gastric tsunami.

Later in the evening, a gang of pirates dropped by to see me. (Where is that in the Biblical account?) Either they were pirates or they all just got off the night shift at Long John Silvers. Argh! The colorful trio showed up either to rescue old Jonah or to rob him, I’m still not sure which. Nonetheless, there they were in the flesh—the diabolical one-eyed Captain Jamie, loyal First Mate Haley, and the always mysterious Buccaneer Whitney. It was kind of like Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean meets the Old Testament in High Definition. I also had some other notable visitors drop by earlier in the evening—Napoleon Dynamite and his amigo, Pedro. (AKA Caitlin "Brillo" Davis and the mustachioed Tiffany McGregor.) But, alas, they missed the photo op.

After my long stint in that stuffy old fish’s belly, I’m glad to finally be free again. No more boat rides for me. The big lesson of Jonah’s life is this: “God’s way is always the best way.” Never forget that. I sure won’t. Now that I’m back on dry land, watch for more blogs in the days ahead.

Pastor “Jonah”

Monday, September 29, 2008

Live...from Washington DC...

“Just relax,” he said. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Just remember, in a few moments you’ll be speaking from the very podium where every president in your lifetime has stood to address the nation during the State of the Union Address and at other times of national importance.”

And with those words, Daniel P. Coughlin, the Chaplain of the U. S. House of Represent- atives, quickly turned and walked off the platform, leaving me standing there all alone. A second later, Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, the third highest elected official in our national government, entered the chamber, ascended to the Speaker’s chair, and gaveled the House to order.

“And now,” she said, “our opening prayer will be offered by the Reverend Danny Davis, Pastor of Mount Hermon Baptist Church in Danville, Virginia.”

And with that, I prayed my 150-word prayer to the Lord in full view of the scattered Congressmen and staffers on the floor; Sandy, our son Jordan, and a group of school children up in the gallery; and an indeterminable number of television viewers watching the proceedings on C-SPAN. After ending my prayer with the politically incorrect “In Jesus’ Name, Amen”, I stepped off the platform and the House recited the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. Then I publicly was recognized by the two members of the House who had made this rare opportunity possible for me: Congresswoman Thelma Drake of Virginia Beach—my son Jordan’s boss—and Congressman Virgil Goode, our local Congressman from here in Southside Virginia.

After their remarks on the House floor, we all exited the chamber. I then met up with Sandy and Jordan and the three of us were escorted to the Speaker’s Reception Room by Chaplain Coughlin, accompanied by Speaker Pelosi, along with Representatives Drake and Goode. Speaker Pelosi told me that the Speaker’s Reception Room was used to receive kings, presidents, prime ministers and other dignitaries, but on that particular day it was being used to receive me. (Whoa!) Chaplain Coughlin then presented me with a certificate in recognition of my serving as guest chaplain for the day. A House photographer came along to chronicle the event. It was all quite amazing—almost too much to take in—for a simple preacher like me that grew up in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky.

In the midst of all the niceties, Speaker Pelosi turned to me privately at one point and said “Please pray for us.” Recognizing the tremendous pressures that the Congress was then under because of some of the critical issues they were facing, I assured her that I would. It was at the very moment that I suddenly was reminded of the fact that people are just people, no matter what position of power of prominence they may hold. And that everyone, regardless of status or stature, needs the Lord.

As our time together concluded, Sandy and I left the Capitol and went by Jordan’s office in the Longworth House Office Building to say our “goodbyes” to his co-workers, the other members of Mrs. Drake’s staff. During our stopover there, I was honored with yet another unexpected gift—a plaque containing an official copy of Congresswoman Drake’s remarks about me which would be entered into that day’s Congressional Record.

Congresswoman Drake had been so gracious and kind with her remarks on the House floor—not only in regard to what she said about me, but with the additional comments she made about her Senior Legislative Assistant, Jordan. It was a nice but unexpected tribute to a young man who has been a valuable part of her team for the past three years. Sandy and I were both humbled and proud. Mrs. Drake is truly a wonderful lady. She is just completing her second term on Capitol Hill. Obviously, we hope that her re-election bid this November is successful. It truly would be a loss both to her district and the nation if it were otherwise.

Earlier in the morning, prior to the opening of the House session, Sandy and I had enjoyed a leisurely private breakfast with Mrs. Drake and Jordan in the Members Only Dining Room. We were delighted to have that special opportunity to get to know her better. She is such a refreshing down-to-earth person, the type who quickly puts you at ease. She also is a person of character, integrity, and strong values. It is encouraging to know that there are people of her caliber serving in Congress. And the same goes for Virgil Goode. He also is a man of deep conviction and character. I feel better about things in Washington when I remember that both Thelma Drake and Virgil Goode are there. I truly thank God for public servants like these. May the Lord increase their tribe. Our nation surely could use a few more elected officials cut from the same cloth.

Pastor Danny

NOTE: By the way, I've learned that my prayer will be preserved for posterity on the House Chaplain's official website: chaplain.house.gov. Just click on the "prayer archive" and search for the prayer dated September 17, 2008. (Honestly, I just hope the Lord was pleased with it.)

Monday, September 08, 2008

Back from Cuba

Can you believe it? Pastor Danny's Blog has lain dormant for an entire month! But, contrary to any rumors regarding my untimely demise, I'm happy to report that I'm still alive & well. And after a lengthy hiatus from the blogosphere—due to travels, family illness, and a host of pastoral responsibilities that I had to catch up on after returning home—I’m finally settling back into my cyberspace saddle again. I’ll try to get my journalistic juices flowing once more by sharing some thoughts regarding our church's recent mission trip to Cuba.

In mid-August, Sandy and I led a team of 15 persons from the Danville area to minister with a Baptist church in Cuba’s capital city of Havana. We worked with a congregation there that Sandy and I have known quite well since 2002. This was my fifth visit to the island and Sandy’s fourth. Returning to the church in Cuba and seeing familiar faces there—faces that we’ve seen year after year—is sort of like going home again. We have been there so often that, for Sandy and me, it’s almost like returning to a church that we formerly pastored. The people there are truly special to our hearts. This was Mount Hermon’s first mission foray into Cuba, and Sandy and I were truly delighted for members of our new church family to meet some of our dear Christian friends in Havana. (We had been there several times previously with members of our former church in Florida.)

During week one, our team was involved in a variety of mission activities. Every morning, we divided into 3 subgroups of five persons each, and conducted 3 simultaneous Vacation Bible Schools for children in 3 different neighborhoods. Much as in the USA, our VBS consisted of Bible teaching, music, crafts, recreation & snacks…except that everything is done in Spanish rather than English! (Thank God that love knows no language.) We ministered to some precious boys & girls throughout the week, some of whom are the children of prostitutes & prison inmates. One child we ministered to had watched his father hatchet his mother to death just a few days earlier. Another child’s mother had just died of AIDs. One group of kids we worked with came from a household of 41 women & children crowded into a residence built for 10. But the children were all so adorable. And they have such an authentic spiritual hunger. They loved us & we loved them. Thank God for the work that the church there is doing in reaching them for Christ.

Following lunch, our team members were involved in afternoon adult discipleship training sessions. Some of us taught sessions each day. I did a series on the theology and practice of the various worship expressions mentioned in the Bible. Cliff Hudgins taught on conflict resolution, listening skills, and other practical matters. Whitney Clarke demonstrated the use of object lessons to communicate spiritual truth to children. Other team members provided special music (vocal and guitar), drama, dance/ creative arts, and personal testimonies. Throughout the week, every team member spoke at least once. Some shared multiple times. In the evenings, team members similarly participated in corporate worship services which were hosted at a different venue each night. Cliff Hudgins and I shared primary preaching responsibilities throughout the week.

Our team worked hard, they sweated profusely (at least I did), and they connected beautifully with their Cuban brothers and sisters. I was proud of the work they did. Because of the busy schedule that had been planned for us, there was very little down time for the team. Indeed, our sightseeing opportunities were limited to just 3 afternoon hours squeezed into one busy Sunday. But the whole week was a memorable experience for all and I’m sure it left an indelible mark on each member of our team.

At the conclusion of week one, most of the team headed back to the USA while Sandy and I stayed behind. We had been invited to stay for a second week in order to engage in some additional ministry opportunities. Originally, there had been talk of me preaching/ teaching/ lecturing at the Baptist seminary for a week. But, when that opportunity didn’t materialize, there was a plan for me to share in several different Havana churches during the second week. Right before our departure to Cuba, however, my close friend who is a leader among Cuban Baptists told me that Sandy and I had been invited to speak to a pastors and wives conference that week at a Baptist camp and retreat center out in the countryside. Sandy and I would meet various pastors and wives from throughout the country. I would have the opportunity to address the pastors, Sandy would teach a session for their wives, and then Sandy would sing each night of the conference. So, that was our plan when we arrived in Cuba. But then Tropical Storm Fay showed up a week later on the day the rest of our team flew home. That was a Monday. This led to the last minute cancellation of the retreat, which was to have begun on Tuesday. Although good ole Fay missed Havana (barely), veering to the east, she went right over the area where the camp was located. So, it probably was a good idea they canceled the event. But, this led to our personal plans changing once more. Our friend worked hastily to make new arrangements for us. And everything worked out beautifully as if God had planned it that way all along (which I’m sure He had.)

After hunkering down for a day while the storm (such as it was) passed by, we headed out on Tuesday morning, traveling to different areas in & outside of Havana, meeting different pastors & leaders, being exposed to their vision & to their various ministries, hearing their hearts, discerning opportunities for future mission ventures, and speaking and sharing wherever & whenever God gave opportunity. During the course of the week, we attended house church meetings, addressed youth gatherings, spoke to a group of brand new Christians, participated in an inner-city ministry to prostitutes, drug addicts & alcoholics, and preached & sang during regular church worship services. It was a rewarding time of relationship-building, encouragement & spiritual renewal.

There are many things about our experiences in Cuba and our friends there that I can’t post on the Internet. Thus, I’ll reserve those comments for unrecorded, oral communication only. Over the next few days, however, I do hope to share with you some written reflections and remembrances of our island neighbor to the south, for Cuba and its residents are truly a land and a people that God has put on our hearts.

Pastor Danny

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Let the Games Begin!

The XXIX (29th) Olympiad began yesterday at precisely 8 seconds past 8 minutes after 8 o’clock on the 8th day of the 8th month of the 8th year of the millennium. Hmm... Talk about being behind the 8-ball! (In case you’re wondering, 8 is the number of prosperity and good fortune in Chinese culture. By the way, it’s also been reported that young couples were bombarding the marriage license offices and expectant mothers were lining up for C-sections on Friday—everyone wanting their big event to happen on 8/8/08 for good luck.)

The 2008 Olympic Games are some of the most anticipated in years, primarily because of their host country—the People’s Republic of China. Yes, this by far is China’s biggest step onto the world stage. For years, China was a largely reclusive, even mysterious land, intentionally isolated from much of the rest of the world in spite of being the planet’s most populous nation. Now, China will be under the full glare of the world’s spotlight for the next two weeks, a position they’ve never found themselves in before. It will be interesting to see how that all pans out. (As I write these words, the magnificent opening ceremonies held in Beijing’s new national stadium—“the bird’s nest”—were receiving global accolades. But that great achievement was tragically dampened just a few hours later with an unprovoked fatal knife attack on the relative of a US volleyball coach. Let’s hope the rest of the Olympics go without incident.)

The Far East’s sleeping giant has come a long way. Although China fell to the Communists in 1949, it was not until 1971 that the nation was finally granted membership in the United Nations. The United States also formally recognized the revolutionary government at that time, with President Nixon making an historic trip to China in 1972. In the decades since, China has been a growing economic power in the world’s increasingly globalized economy. (I wonder why Communists aren’t willing to admit the obvious: That without capitalism they simply couldn’t survive!)

Of course, as one would expect of a Communist country, China is still light years behind in regard to human rights, political freedom, and religious liberty. There has been hope of progress in these areas in recent years, but every seeming step forward always appears to be followed by two more steps backward. In fact, leading up to the Games, there has been renewed debate as to whether the Olympics should even be held in China at all. This past week, President Bush strongly condemned China’s human rights record, even as he was en route to Beijing for the Games’ opening ceremonies. Pretty courageous, I thought. But some thought he shouldn’t even be there. I suppose no one really wanted a repeat of 1980 and 1984, when the USA boycotted the Games in Moscow and the Soviets retaliated by boycotting the Olympics in Los Angeles, thus diminishing those contests considerably and harming the athletes more than anyone else.

Sandy and I will miss getting to watch this year’s Summer Olympics. We’ll be in Cuba—another Communist country—during virtually all of the Games. Although I’m certain we’ll hear nothing about Team USA’s achievements, we may hear reports regarding Cuba’s Olympic successes while we’re on the island. The Caribbean country is a powerhouse when it comes to two sports—baseball and boxing. So watch and see how the Cuban teams perform in those arenas.

When I think about the Olympic Summer Games, I think about heroic stories like that of Jesse Owens at the 1936 Games in Germany. The gifted African-American sprinter embarrassed Hitler and his claim of Aryan supremacy by winning 3 gold medals against the Furher’s stable of blond-haired, blue-eyed German athletes. Jesse Owens was truly a class act and a great American hero. I also am inspired by the story of Wilma Rudolph, a poor girl from Tennessee that won 3 gold medals as a runner at the 1960 Olympics in Rome. Rudolph, the 20th of 22 children, suffered from polio as a child and wasn’t able to walk without assistance until she was 12. But then she blossomed…and then some! By the age of 20, at the 1960 Games, the gazelle-like Rudolph was dubbed the fastest woman in the world! Then, in recent years, there was Kerri Strug, a petite 18-year-old American gymnast who during the 1996 Games in Atlanta became a national hero overnight. In pain from having injured her leg in an earlier jump, Strug refused to shrink back from the challenge before her. With everything riding on her, she clinched the gold medal for her team by making a courageous final vault in the floor exercises competition. Following a near perfect landing, she was in such agony that she couldn't even walk and was carried from floor in tears. But her bravery inspired a nation.

But when I think about Olympic heroes, I also marvel at a man like Eric Liddell, whose true life story was immortalized in the 1982 motion picture Chariots of Fire. If for some reason you’ve never seen that Academy Award winning film, you absolutely must see it. Liddell, known as “The Flying Scotsman” was a man who stood by his Christian convictions and, in the end, the Lord honored His faithfulness. He became a gold medalist at the 1924 Games in Paris. Later, Liddell became a missionary to China and ultimately a Christian martyr, dying as a Japanese prisoner of war during World War II.

But when I think about Olympic glory, my favorite remembrance is not of a gold medalist, but of an athlete that finished dead last in his competition: Derek Redmond of Great Britain, who tore a hamstring during the 400 meters at the Barcelona Games in 1992. In terrible pain, he got up and tried to continue, but he couldn’t. His father couldn’t bear to see his son suffering and struggling alone. So he raced from the sidelines, ran to his son’s side, put his arms around him and helped him to the finish line, to a standing ovation from the amazed crowd. Officially, that action disqualified Redmond. But it really didn’t matter. He was going to finish last anyway. The truth is both he and his father were winners that day. Indeed, we all were. For no one that witnessed that event has ever forgotten the blessing of that visual image of a loving father coming alongside his hurting son and helping him finish.

Without me even saying it, I trust you see the spiritual parallel in that. More than once in the Bible the Christian life is compared to a race. And if indeed it is a race, then we must remember that it’s not a sprint, but a marathon. And there are lots of ups and downs in the course of a marathon. There are times when we all make missteps and stumble. Sometimes we fall. Sometimes we falter. Sometimes we feel we can’t get back up again. Sometimes we feel we can’t go on. Sometimes we experience deep hurt and pain. But there is always One who comes alongside us…to comfort us, to love on us, to give us His strength, and to encourage us to remain faithful and finish the course that’s been charted out for us.

The loving action of Derek Redmond’s father reminds us that we too have a Father in Heaven. On occasions He may seem far removed from us during the race of life, but in all actuality, He is quite near. If today, you are experiencing stress, fatigue, weariness or pain in your journey, I pray that you will sense the Father’s touch in fresh new way. Remember, He will never leave you nor forsake you. And having Him in your life is far greater than any Olympic glory. And it's worth all the tea in China as well.

Pastor Danny