Go Away, Ché

“Ché Guevara!” Those were the only two words I could make out from his garbled and largely-unintelligible Spanish. I had been trying to carefully maneuver my way through a crowded open-air market in Havana, Cuba, when the old man set his sights on this obviously out-of-place, seemingly naïve gringo. An easy mark, he undoubtedly thought.

The aging Cubano appeared to be poor, like many of his countrymen. His straw hat and soiled clothes were wrinkly and weather-beaten, just like his dark skin. His face was hard, and he was too, as I was about to find out. Quite unexpectedly, he had approached me, thrusting into my hand a vintage Cuban coin bearing the image of Ché Guevara, the legendary hero of the Cuban revolution. It wasn’t a gift however. It was a business proposition that would prove to be quite difficult to refuse.

“Ché Guevara! Ché Guevara!” he repeated in his deep, gruff voice, the volume rising with each utterance. I tried to give the coin back to the man, but he adamantly refused it. Instead, he insisted that I pay for it with US dollars. It didn’t seem to matter to him that I didn’t want to buy the product he was hawking. When I indicated as much, he became increasingly impatient and belligerent, shaking his head at me. When I tried to tell him I couldn’t speak Spanish, this only agitated him further. He responded by shouting (in Spanish) even louder. As I tried again and again to hand the coin back to him, he repeatedly recoiled from me like I was a leper. Then, when I stepped back, he would resume the offensive, lunging at me with an open hand and demanding that I pay him for the coin. “Ché Guevara! Ché Guevara!” the gravelly old voice kept repeating throughout this whole cat-and-mouse caper.

I could have relented and bought the unwanted coin, I suppose. It would have been an act of benevolence on my part. But knowing that the exchange of foreign currency on the streets on Havana was unlawful, I was afraid that this innocent little transaction might possibly net me some jail time. And how did I know that this was not some sort of set up job? But I also knew that if I didn’t buy it, I still might be in hot water, the old man perhaps accusing me of trying to steal his prized coin.

Ultimately, my interpreter as well as some nearby table vendors came to my rescue and joined the debate. I didn’t understand a lot of what was being said, but I sensed we were at a stalemate. Finally, I got tired of the whole mess and just threw the coin down on the ground. The incredulous old man almost had a cow! You would have thought that I had just spit in his face. He scooped up the coin and angrily tried to thrust it into my hand once more, but I wasn’t going to fall for that trick again.

Finally, the vendors threatened to call the police and, at long last, the old man fled. The escalating international incident was over as quickly as it had begun. But ever since then, whenever I hear the name Ché Guevara, I always think of that old man and his coin.

Ché Guevara, like the protagonist in my story, is a figure that seemingly just won’t go away. Throughout the revolution in Cuba, Ernesto “Ché” Guevara, an Argentine physician, had been Fidel Castro’s right hand man (or is that left hand man, if you’re a Communist?). Following their stunning ascent to power in 1959, the restless Ché left Castro’s side in order to continue fanning the fires of revolution across Central and South America. Ultimately, he wound up on the wrong side of a gun in 1967, shot to death in Bolivia at the age of 39.

In the years since his death, Ché has achieved a rare kind of immortality, rising to the mythic pop culture status of a Marilyn Monroe or an Elvis Presley. In fact, he’s probably more popular today than he’s ever been. His ageless, bearded, beret-topped image—forever frozen in time because of his early death—has become an instantly recognizable icon to people around the globe. Many of those enamored by Ché view him as a great martyr for a noble cause, a Christlike messianic liberator who came to set the captives free, a courageous voice for the downtrodden and the oppressed, and the personification of the world’s revolutionary spirit. Stranger still, the late Ché has developed quite a cult following among white, upper middle-class, left-leaning American college students. In fact, on many college campuses today, it’s not unusual to see students wearing chic “Ché” T-shirts and other apparel because they think it’s cool and trendy. Little do they realize who or what this man really was—a thug, a criminal, a terrorist, an executioner, and a murderer! He didn’t set people free. He manipulated them and then destroyed them. Truly, we’re talking about a Satan; not a Savior. An evil man who just happened to be quite photogenic.

What really got me thinking about Ché this week was a news story reporting that a lock of his hair was recently auctioned off in Texas for the amazing sum of $100,000. (Ugh! How disgusting! What’s next? Hitler’s toenail?)

All of us need (and want) heroes. But it’s tragic when you see young people embracing (and even worshiping) such an ungodly figure as Ché Guevara. It only goes to show how desperate this generation is for heroes, role models, and mentors. (Not to mention, how confused they are about morality, spirituality and politics.) Rather than trying to project on Ché (and others like him) something that they're obviously not, how about embracing an authentic Hero instead?

The Hero who truly set the world on its ear was another bearded revolutionary. He didn’t do it with violence, but with love. He didn’t shed the blood of others, but poured out His own. His victory wasn’t physical, but spiritual. His kingdom isn’t temporal, but eternal. He’s the one true Messiah that came to give love to the loveless, power to the powerless, and hope to the hopeless. His Name is Jesus. And when He died, He didn’t stay dead. Unlike Ché Guevara, He rose again. And He’s alive today. And having Him in your heart is worth far more than any T-shirt you can wear on your back.

Pastor Danny

The Goodyear Blimp Visits Danville

There was something unusual in the skies over Danville last week. No, it wasn’t an asteroid. (See my earlier blog entitled “Panic in Peru” for more on that particular topic.) Actually, it was the Goodyear blimp. That famous aerial icon was in town for a few days, moored at Danville Regional Airport part of the time and intermittently appearing over the skies of our city at other times. Obviously, the big balloon was here in Danville because of the local Goodyear plant, but also in preparation for the big Subway 500 race in Martinsville on Sunday. I saw the blimp several times throughout the week while driving around the city—one time over the historic homes and churches on Main Street, and then later along the river just above the vacant Dan River Mills building that recently lost its historic signage. (I had my camera in the car so I took a couple of quick snapshots.)

Then on Saturday, around noon—as Sandy and I were preparing for our third open house in succession—I heard this strange but intense buzzing noise that seemed to be coming from overhead. I was upstairs at the time. I knew the unfamiliar sound wasn’t a train passing by or an excessively loud tractor trailer rig on Highway 58. Sandy, downstairs, heard the sound as well. She thought it sounded like an old vintage World War I era biplane. I came downstairs and we both looked out our back window and there it was overhead—the Goodyear blimp, up close and personal. It was making its way westward along Highway 58 toward Martinsville for the big race. I didn’t have my camera near me this time, so I didn’t get a shot of it over our house, but it was an interesting spectacle to behold.

These recent blimp sightings brought back some memories. The sound of the blimp flying by our house reminded me of a story grandmother once told me about the first airplane that flew over Whitley County, Kentucky—the area where Sandy & I were raised. It was early in the 20th century when airplanes were still very new, and no one in that remote mountain area had ever seen one before. Many of the local residents were terrified. They thought it was the end of the world. Some thought the Lord was coming back. Perhaps if I had never ever seen anything up in the sky before, I might have thought the same thing this past Saturday!

My recent close encounter with the Goodyear blimp also reminded me of the fact that our daughter-in-law, Melinda, once worked for the Lightship Group, as assistant to the operations manager in their North American office in Orlando. An international company, Lightships, Inc., is the largest owner of commercial blimps in the world. In fact, most all of the blimps you see at sporting events—other than Goodyear (the granddaddy of them all, which obviously has its own fleet)—belong to Lightships, Inc. You know, MetLife, Monster.com, Saturn, etc.—all of these are Lightship-owned & operated blimps, which are leased by these companies for advertising purposes (i.e., kind of like flying billboards.) Melinda used to help coordinate the travel arrangements for Lightship crews all around the world. She even got to fly in a blimp at least once. (Unfortunately, she never was able to get Jordan, Sandy or myself on one.)

Then, I think back years earlier to when I was pastoring a rural church in Chowan County, North Carolina (in the northeastern part of the Tar Heel state). We were not too far from Elizabeth City, the site of a former World War II naval air base and blimp hanger that had become home to an airship manufacturing facility. Thus, there was a lot of airship activity in that area. When Jordan was a little boy, we periodically would see the MetLife blimp (as well as others) flying over our church parsonage. Little did we know that some 15 years later Jordan would one day be married to a young woman who worked for the company that would deploy those MetLife blimps to different places around the world.

Of course, when I think of blimps I, like many people, think of the most infamous blimp of all—the German airship Hindenberg—which wound up being kind of like an aerial version of the Titanic. This massive zeppelin was the pride of Nazi Germany, a seemingly great achievement in the history of commercial air travel. But then on May 16, 1937, it literally all went up in flames, following an explosion over the airfield at Lakehurst, N.J. One of the greatest air disasters of all time, the Hindenberg crash basically spelled the end for airships as a means of commercial travel.

By the way, speaking of blimps, when I pastored in Florida, there was this guy that worked for the Florida Baptist Convention. His nickname was “Blimp” Davis. (Please don’t get any ideas about calling me that. I would be highly offended.) “Blimp” isn’t the kind of nickname you would think anyone would want to acquire or perpetuate. But this guy signed his name as “Blimp” Davis all the time. To me, however, the nickname “Blimp” just conjures up some uncomplimentary images of the person. Kind of like referring to a person as “portly”, implying that their circumference stretches from shore to shore! Anyway, this guy named “Blimp” wasn’t really a blimp in appearance, so I don’t know where his name came from. But seeing the Goodyear blimp this week made me think of him. And it also made me grateful that I never was tagged with a nickname like that…at least not yet.

OK, it’s time to get my head out of the clouds and wrap up this rather air-headed blog. This is enough reflecting on blimps for one day. I think I’ll take a break from all of this blimpology and go have a Slimfast for lunch.

Pastor Danny

A Sprinter Stumbles

Her powerful stride, amazing speed, elegant physique & dazzling smile— a smile more brilliant than all her medals— combined to create a mental image we’ll never forget.

Virtually overnight, track & field sensation Marion Jones became America’s sweetheart & the unrivaled darling of the 2000 Olympic Games. Without a doubt, she was poetry in motion, a rare combination of power & grace, and—for a time, seemingly—“the fastest woman in the world.” Shining brightly from the world stage at Sydney, this adorable young athlete truly stole all of our hearts. But now, sadly—after years of rumors—we find out that she actually stole far more than that.

Earlier this month, Marion Jones admitted to the illegal use of steroids dating back to 1999, a claim she had repeatedly & passionately denied, even under oath. Jones appeared in court & pled guilty to lying to federal agents in connection with her steroid use. She awaits sentencing sometime in early January & could serve up to six months in prison as part of her plea bargaining deal. Standing outside the U.S. District Court House in White Plains, New York, the disgraced Olympian tearfully apologized, saying, “It is with a great amount of shame that I say I have betrayed your trust. I have let my country down."

As a result of her confession, Jones was slapped with a two-year suspension from track & field competition. (She had already decided, however, to go ahead & retire from the sport.) Furthermore, the U.S. Olympic Committee called for her to relinquish the 5 medals—3 gold & 2 bronze—that she had captured at Sydney, which she promptly did. In addition, she is being required to return all other medals, awards & prizes earned during the period of her illegal activity. Plus, all of her now-tarnished accomplishments will be erased from the record books. Too bad Marion Jones can’t erase all the pain she has caused herself & others.

For years, Jones had vehemently denied all allegations regarding the use of performance-enhancing drugs, claiming that her athletic achievements were solely the product of her “God-given talents.” It seems now that she really didn’t believe that what God had given her was enough. So she sought to gain an edge through artificial means. Steroids gave her an unfair advantage that robbed her more honest competitors of victories they might have won. Ironically, Jones also robbed herself of ever knowing what she truly might have been able to accomplish on her own merit.

But perhaps an ever greater tragedy is the effect Jones’s deception has had on her former teammates. Right now, the women who ran relay with Jones are facing the potential loss of their own medals because of Jones’s tainted performance.

Teammate Passion Richardson recently said, “I competed fairly, and I should not have to suffer the consequences for someone else's bad decisions and choices.” True, but what about those other teams that—apart from Jones’s doping—might have surpassed the overall performance of U.S. relay team? Are they to be cheated out of their their rightful place in history? On the other hand, if the other members of Jones’s 2000 relay team are allowed to keep their medals, will those medals forever be looked upon as tainted? Sadly, there are no winners in this unfortunate situation.

The poor judgment of Jones that got everyone in this whole mess reminds me of the old adage, “Sin always takes you further than you want to go, keeps you longer than you want to stay, and costs you more than you want to pay.” Indeed the price that Marion Jones is now paying is a high one. It’s been quite a fall from grace for a woman who not too long ago was one of the most celebrated athletes in the world.

Jones, of course, is not beyond redemption. (I’m speaking spiritually here, and not athletically.) For with God, forgiveness is always possible. And through His amazing grace, we all have the opportunity for a second chance. (Praise the Lord!) But, unfortunately, even when sin is forgiven, its consequences can linger indefinitely. You can’t magically put toothpaste back into its tube once you’ve squeezed it out. Likewise, you can’t very easily reverse or undo the things you put into motion when you make a bad choice. Sin always has a ripple effect. And many times in life, innocent people suffer as a result of the thoughtless actions of others…even the actions of those that we once considered a teammate or a friend.

That pretty young woman with the winning smile that dashed into our lives & stole our hearts back in 2000 has now broken them. Her smile is gone & so is ours. Recent revelations of her cheating & deception have disillusioned thousands of her young fans & scores of young female athletes that looked up to her as a hero & a role model. Let’s hope that as this younger generation grows up, none of them tries to “keep up with the Joneses”…especially not this particular Jones.

Pastor Danny

Open House at the Davises

This past Saturday, Sandy and I hosted the first of four Open Houses we’re doing in October. To accommodate our large church family, we decided to spread it out over the course of a whole month. So, we divided up the adult Sunday School classes, giving each an “assigned” Saturday to visit us. Those not in an adult class—or those not able to attend on their designated day—were encouraged to plug in on the Saturday of their choice.

As pastor and wife, Sandy and I have become quite accustomed to hosting these gatherings for our church families through the years. We haven’t done them every year, but we almost have, hosting about 20 of them during our 22 years in pastoral ministry. But doing multiple open houses is a first for us. In our previous four pastorates, we never found it necessary to attempt that.

My wife obviously has the gift of hospitality. She’s a great cook and homemaker and loves to entertain and make people feel welcome in our home. I am blessed to have her. She always cooks all the food for these events. My main job—as well as that of our son Jordan when he was a boy living at home—is to taste test the various culinary delights. It’s a hard job, but somebody has to do it.

Sandy and I have always felt it’s important to offer opportunities like this for our church family. We want everyone in our congregation to feel welcome in our home. And these fellowship opportunities are a means by which we can say thanks to our church family for loving & supporting us as you do. It’s also a means to help us get to know better the many members of our flock.

Interestingly, leading up to the month of open houses, we were having some work done at our home. Ronnie Dillon had a crew working on repairing our 30-year old wooden deck on the back of the house. Some of the boards were warped and it was sagging in a few places. We also discovered some boards that were deteriorating. Well, you know how it is when you get into a project like that. The more you start repairing, the more you see that needs repairing. But I’m so glad we got it all finished and painted in time for the open house. I was telling Herb Setliff, Jr., one of Ronnie’s carpenters, that I was really glad to get this project completed, because I would hate to see the deck collapse and one of our older ladies fall through. Herb told me, “I think you need to worry more about the deck collapsing under your weight than under the weight of some little lady.” Ouch!

I’ve got an even better story. There was a little girl at open house who saw a framed photo of my son & his wife on a table. She asked me, “Is that your grandson?” Ouch, again! But it gets even better. The same little girl later asked Sandy, “Is your son still living?” Whoa! I think it’s time to sell our house & move into Roman Eagle.

One of the nice things we've been able to do with the open houses is offer a shuttle service from the church for those needing a ride. Butch Cassada has helped coordinate this ministry for us. This past Saturday, virtually the entire Ruth Martin Sunday School class rode on the bus together to our home. They came in unison & the left in unison. They were a lively, fun group & they had a big time. Later, when they were all ready to go, they gathered in the living room, waiting for the bus to return. I told them the room looked like a Greyhound terminal.

Some people have asked Sandy & me about the small metal sign out in front of our home. It’s a recent addition to the landscaping. Since moving back to Virginia—a state with such a sense of history—we had been thinking about giving our residence a name (a la Washington’s Mount Vernon & Jefferson’s Monticello). Believing our home was provided for us by the Lord, we decided to name it “God’s Provision”, but we wanted to give the title a unique twist.

In 2006, Sandy and I spent a few weeks abroad in Northern Ireland. Like many Americans, our roots are Scotch-Irish (i.e., Scottish protestants who migrated to Ulster [Northern Ireland] and finally came to the United States, settling primarily in the mountains of Appalachia). So we decided to find out how to say “God’s Provision” in the dialect known as Ulster Gaelic. Sandy undertook this project with a great deal of devotion, researching it on the Internet and communicating via email with a number of people in Ireland. The result of her research was the expression “Solathar De” (Pronounced sul-a-her day). So now, when you see that sign in front of our home, you’ll know what it means and you’ll understand the history behind it.

Well, there’s one open house down and three more to go. We’re truly looking forward to the rest of the month and we hope to see you there. In the meantime, I need to take a break from blogging and hurry back to sampling more food. I want to make sure it’s safe for everyone’s consumption.

Pastor Danny

Panic in Peru

It all started out as just another run-of-the-mill Saturday night for the residents of the sleepy little Peruvian village of Carancas.

But then, all of a sudden there arose such a clatter, they all sprang from their beds to see what was the matter. And what to their wondering eyes should appear? No, it wasn’t some plus-size guy in a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer. (It’s too early for that.)

Some looked up and saw the bright streak of light that flashed across the night sky. Others heard or felt the loud thud generated at the moment of impact. What could it be?

"Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…it’s…a meteorite!"

BANG! All of a sudden there was this huge, smoldering crater in the earth some 40 to 50 feet wide and some 12 to 20 feet deep…a deep earthen cauldron with an even larger capacity than Venezuela’s new world record-setting stew pot! (See previous blog.)

Faster than you can say "Rosanne Roseanna Danna," the remote little town of Carancas, Peru was on the map. Its newest landmark—a great big hole in the ground—had become an overnight sensation, the focal point of an international media frenzy. Early news accounts originating from the area told of numerous local residents suffering from a variety of sudden and inexplicable illnesses. Some observers began to speculate that perhaps the crashing meteorite had emitted dangerous noxious fumes from outer space that could prove detrimental to human life. Exaggerated reports suggested that as many as 600 people had fallen ill, although later reports significantly reduced that number to somewhere around 30. The latest word on the “sickness”, however, is that it was probably psychosomatic, the result of a case of mass hysteria spurred on by those earlier reports of a “mysterious illness,” not to mention a general anxiety among the populace about large unfamiliar objects falling from the sky.

In other words, the illness was largely in people’s heads. They had become so frightened that the meteorite was going to afflict them with some bizarre disease, that their own fear—rather than the meteorite—is what caused them to get sick.

People have always been afraid of things they don’t understand. Fear of the unknown (as well as fear of things that are different from us) is a common human malady.

I’m not too much of a science fiction buff, but one of my favorite old movies is the 1951 sci-fi classic, “The Day the Earth Stood Still” starring British actor Michael Rennie and Academy Award winning actress Patricia Neal. (By the way, Patricia Neal is from my hometown. My dad knew her. And I met her years ago.) In my opinion, “The Day the Earth Stood Still” is much better than most of those cheaply-made, B-grade, sci-fi flicks of the 1950s. (You know the kind. The ones with giant ants running around and terrorizing a town, and so forth.) In “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” a benevolent alien from a distant planet (Michael Rennie) comes in peace, offering advice and assistance to the human race. This mysterious visitor from another world (along with his giant robot) arrives on earth via a flying saucer (what else would you have expected?), landing his spacecraft in our nation’s capital (of all places). (As the story unfolds, one wonders if it might not have turned out much better for him had he chosen to land in a remote Peruvian village.) The alien visitor is greeted with a response of mistrust and violence, bred by an atmosphere of collective human fear. He is rejected and suffers a fatal wound, after which he is amazingly brought back to life (for a brief time). He ultimately departs from the earth, his saucer ascending and disappearing into the sky from whence it had come. But not before he leaves the people of earth with a strong word of warning, challenging them to choose the right path for their future destiny before it is too late. Perhaps I’m reading too much into this, but doesn’t this story sound vaguely familiar?

Someone DID come to earth long ago, armed with a message of wisdom, hope and love. He was rejected. He was wounded. He died for our sins (including all our fears and anxieties.) But he rose again victorious over His enemies and over death, Hell and the grave. Then, He ascended back to the place from which He came. But before He left, He gave us a word of warning—we must follow His path, and not the selfish path of discord and destruction, choosing to love Him with every fiber of our being, and be His witnesses unto the uttermost part of the earth.

Oh, by the way, that Someone is Jesus.

A few weeks ago, something unexpected fell from the sky above South America, and those remote Peruvian villagers were instantaneously gripped with fear. What in your life has got you all shook up? Has something recently come crashing into your life, leaving a gaping hole of insecurity on the surface of your psyche?

Remember that God can help you turn that attitude around. The Jesus who said, “Fear not! It is I. Be not afraid” is the same Jesus who can help you to gain a different perspective regarding any threat—real or imagined—that’s seemingly hovering above your head right now.

When that big bang happened in Peru, it sure disturbed and unnerved a lot of people. But you know what’s happening down there now? The latest word is that the local Peruvian officials are hoping to turn their big hole into a “gold mine” by making it into a tourist attraction. Disney World South, here we come!

That’s what I call turning your lemons into lemonade…or, in this case, turning your former fears into a monument to survival and successful perseverance.

And that’s what God can do for you, when you release your fears over to Him.

Pastor Danny