Pastor Hurst

I CARRIED THE KING:

I am the donkey. You know, the one that carried Him that day. That day of shouting. That day of praise. That day when He, the King, entered the Holy City. You, I believe, call it the Triumphant Entry. You may find it surprising that I’m writing. But, let me remind you of one of my distant ancestors who could talk! Remember? The one who rebuked Balaam. She really could be such a nag. (lol. I couldn’t resist.) Anyway, I got her gene for speech. See, I’m not actually writing, per se, I’m talking. I mean, after all, I have hooves. Those aren’t too efficient on keyboards. Thankfully, there’s that new voice dictation technology. Forgive me; I’ve digressed. Back to the day I carried the King. I was not a likely choice to carry a king. I was not a nice donkey. I was rebellious. I allowed no one on my back. Not even my owner. Oh, some had tried. None were successful. Their derrieres barely made contact with my spine before I, with a mighty buck, hurled them through the air. They never tried again. I wasn’t just being mean—well, maybe; it’s that I had such a constant restlessness, anger at those humans, turmoil over the hardships of life, I felt compelled to kick and buck and bite. Two of His friends led me to Him. Thinking back on it, I could have easily taken the wrong road. I had been tied right at the intersection in the village. I could have been led in any direction. Yet, providentially, I walked the road that led to Him. Oh, I was being myself, struggling at the rope reins, trying to spit out the bit, shaking my head from side to side, digging in my heels. But strangely, the closer they pulled me towards Him-who-would-be-the-first-to-ride-me, all the uproar, all the wild instincts, all the restlessness began draining from me. By the time I got to Him, I was placidly plodding at His friends’ gentle directing tugs. For the first time in my existence, felt tamed. I felt peaceful. Though unbroken and unridden, I felt no urge to lurch or to shirk away from Him. Not from Him. In fact, though I couldn’t explain it, I WANTED Him to ride me! But, alas, I had no saddle for Him. His friends took care of that. They took off their outer tunics and arranged them on me, forming a quite nice, comfortable saddle. Then, they lifted Him, the King, and sat Him on my back. I trembled. Not with fear. Not with anger. Not with wildness, but with joy. My donkey mind understood at that moment that I had been born to carry Him. Born to carry the King! What a noisy, raucous mass surrounded us. Crowds were coming out of the nearby villages and gathering and milling around me—uh, Him. Another crowd was hastily ascending the road from the City below, shrieking as they came. Previously, that would have made me very nervous. But, despite the noise, the movement, the smell of perspiring humans, I felt nothing but calm. With Him on my back, I began to descend down that hillside. With all those shouting praise at Him, all that crowding around Him, all that fuss made over Him, I felt proud. I was the one carrying Him. Out of all the donkeys in Judea He could have chosen, He chose me! I felt not only elevated but exhilarated beyond brays. Though bridled, I felt unbridled joy. Like a spring morning being on a high mountain plateau covered with fresh clover. Only exponentially more. People were not only stripping off their coats, some were climbing trees and cutting off fronds. I wondered why until I felt coats and fronds cushioning my hooves. The people were paving the road before me. At first, I thought, “How thoughtful! They don’t want me hurting my hooves on all these rocks.” Then, I realize it wasn’t my hooves they were pampering. It was He they were extolling. Esteeming Him so greatly, they put before Him their valuable garments as pavement for a dumb ole donkey to bring Him with honor into their City. My long ears were twitching with the cacophony of loud shouts that filled the air: “Ho-sannnnnnn-na!” Again and again. “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of Yahweh!” Then, I felt them on my neck. They weren’t raindrops. It was a sunny, blue-skyed day. They were tears. His hot tears falling on me. He had stopped me. All of the Holy City stretched below. As He scanned and surveyed His City, His Temple too, He lamented, “If you would only realize that today’s your day! Your day to welcome the Messiah who will deliver you. Instead, you will reject Me as you always have. And because you reject me, your enemies will lay siege, tear down your walls, and kill your children. Soon.” The tears began soaking through my mane. Puzzling over the disparity of my Rider’s sadness with the continuing shouts of rejoicing from the people pressing around Him, I felt Him gently nudge me to head on down the path. As we approached the gates, people lined the tops of the City’s walls and connected homes trying to get a glimpse of the cause of the commotion coming downing the road. The people on the wall shouted, “Who is that?” pointing to He-who-rode-on-MY-back. The crowd around us roared, “Jesus!” It's Jesus the King!" Had I known, perhaps, I would have made a U-turn and carried Him right back up the hill. Had I only known. Known that I was not carrying Him into the city to be seated on His throne, as everyone seemed to think, but carrying Him there to be hanged on a cross. But I didn’t. I carried Him there, and He did hang. And died. Yet, I heard later He rose from the dead! I heard that one day He is going to come down that same hill again. Next time He will sit on that throne. Only, next time, I won’t carry Him. Donkeys only carried Kings when they come in peace. My cousin the horse, the war stallion, the white one, will carry Him when He enters the City again. Next time He is coming to wage war and to judge. No, I won’t carry Him next time, but I will always have this: I was the first to carry Him! “White Stallion, you will be the second.” (I still struggle with that pride thing a bit.) [Scriptures: Mat. 21;1-12; Mark 11:1-11; Luke 19:29-45; John 12:12-18] --Pastor Clifford Hurst

“How Did It Feel To Slap Him?”

It was the “slap heard around the world.” But what I’d like to know is, How did he feel after he slapped the man? Did he feel shame? Regret? Remorse? Or, did he feel pride for doing something so bold? Justification for having defended another? Importance because of the adulation of his peers? Manly for doing something militant? Was he ever reprimanded for doing it? Or, was he awarded and promoted? Oh, and I am not talking about Will Smith who slapped comedian Chris Rock last week. I’m talking about the Temple security guard who slapped Jesus two millennia ago. It’s really not nice that a comedian got slapped. And it’s really, really not nice that Christ got slapped. Chris, it’s said, handled the slap nobly. Christ for sure did. Neither retaliated with a returned slap. Chris really did nothing. Christ plied the guard with a question; a question, that, had the guard any conscience or intelligence, must have pierced his soul. As Will ostensibly slapped Chris in defense of his wife--something Chris said about her, the Temple Guard slapped Jesus in defense of the High Priest--something Christ said to him. The guard said as he slapped Jesus, “How dare you to talk like that to the High Priest!” Jesus answered, perhaps with bleeding lips, “If I have said something evil and untrue, show how it’s evil and untrue. But, if I have spoken only the truth, why did you slap me.” Why indeed? But that’s not what I’m musing. I’m wondering how the guard felt having slapped Jesus, having slapped God! Normally, we consider how the one slapped, the one who received the blow felt. However, it was the guard, the perpetrator, who felt the greatest impact of the slap. I imagine he experienced an awful sting on his palm from the contact with Christ’s cheek. The sting he felt was far greater than the Christ felt from the slap. Not that Christ didn’t suffer a powerful, bruising blow. But how could it be otherwise? How could one slap a red-hot steel beam and not feel acute pain? How could a man slap God and not feel it in his hand, up his arm, into his heart? I wonder if the man in days to come stared at his hand and thought, “I slapped Him,” and felt anew the pain in his palm refer and run up his arm into his heart. Slapping someone is something to feel bad about. Bad because of what it does and means to the recipient. The slap brings not just physical pain and bruising. It results in insult. And indignity. This effect is an indictment against any man who would slap his wife or children or any other person. But it is also an indictment of all who have known or heard the Good News of Jesus giving His life in substitution for them, dying for them, and yet rejecting Him. Such refusal, such disdain. Such insult. Jesus died for you and you know it. Yet, you refuse Christ. You refuse to accept what He’s done for you and surrender your life and heart to Him. After the Guard had walked away, you might as well have been in line behind him and taken your turn to walk up to Jesus and with a closed heart but open palm slap Him across the face. How did Will feel? How did the Guard? How do you? How does it feel to reject Christ, to, in essence, slap Him across the face? If you say you feel nothing, you are in truly desperate shape. You are calloused indeed. The only acceptable slap I know of is the one given to bring someone out of a stupor or hysterical fit—if that truly works. At least it used to be acceptable. I am not advocating physical violence or coercion of non-believers, but, if your slapping Jesus does not bother you, you need a slap of your own. One to bring you to your senses. Out of your stupor. Or sinning hysteria. Again, not a literal one, but a slap of true shame, conviction, an epiphanic awakening of conscience. So, Will, Temple Guard, and Every Christ Rejector, “How did it feel to slap Him?” --Pastor Clifford Hurst

CAR-FREE SUNDAYS

The Russia-Ukraine war and its consequences on the world’s energy supply plus the resultant sanctions on Russian oil have generated proposals on how to deal with the impending fuel shortage. The International Energy Agency this week presented a ten-point plan to deal with oil usage and mitigate the fuel shortage. One of the ten is “Car-free Sundays.” What’s that? Around the world, no one should drive their vehicles anywhere on Sunday. Not any Sunday. All should keep their cars parked in the garage or on the drive—on Sundays. In short, “Car-free Sundays” are church-free Sundays. At least where there’s no public transport available. Let me tell you how at least one pastor sees that. Whether the IEA is an unwitting accomplice or not, whether Car-free Sundays are enacted and enforced or not, Satan is yet again seeking to push through another way to discourage folks from not going to a house of worship on Sunday. If $5 a gallon, won’t keep them home, cut out driving altogether. If that sounds awfully conspiratorial, it is yet not coincidental. There are just too many things that seemed designed and institutionalized to keep folks from gathering in church to worship. And too many who are willing to avail themselves to do those things. Of course, for not going to church many professed Christians have used the “my-ox-is-stuck-in-the-ditch” excuse so frequently that they gave the Evil One an idea: He would just stick their car in the garage. As a pastor, I think your car would look far better in a parking place on a church lot than on your driveway. I know it would do the driver and passenger far more good. It may mean less fuel in the car’s tank, but more in its owner’s heart. “ I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD.” (Psa 122:1) -Pastor Clifford Hurst

WHAT’S IN PUTIN’S MIND? IT DOESN’T MATTER!

With the Bear on the move, the stock market crashing, the virus again spreading, it is easy to believe that things are out of control. It seems like an empty platitude merely to say “God is in control!” Isn’t that kind of like whistling in the dark? Not if it’s true. It is. God is in control! Often during this invasion of Ukraine by Russia, I have heard pundits puzzling over what “is going on in Putin’s malevolent mind.” “What are his plans, his goals, his purposes?” However, the real question is What is going on in God’s mind? In the end, it’s not the movements and purposes of nations and men that will triumph, but the purposes of God. Although the world often looks like out-of-control chaos, everything is happening according to the plan of God. This is not to say that Putin doesn’t have his own purposes. (There are religious underpinnings and designs to Putin’s plans and machinations that are not mentioned in the media—or barely mentioned.) It is not to say the Putin’s evil purposes are in fact God’s. That would make God culpable of evil. It is to say, that whatever Putin’s or any person’s purposes, God has a greater, overarching, controlling one. How can this be? If God is doing what He wants in the world, how can Putin be doing what he wants? If Putin is pursuing his purpose resultant in great evil, the tragic loss of civilian life, awful suffering, and horrible destruction, how can God be pursuing His purpose of good, righteousness, and peace for the world? A recent re-reading of Jeremiah impressed me that God has an overarching plan that encompasses and controls the movements of the nations and the leaders that instigate them: Babylon was the world power at the time. That empire was on the move. It had crushed countries and their leaders. Specifically, Babylon had destroyed Judah, Jerusalem, and God’s Holy Temple. It had led the people of God captive to exilic servitude. Yet, even as Babylon was doing so, God said it itself would be destroyed. Annihilated. Despite what it or any other nation did. Why such certainty? Because God had purposed it. He had plans for Babylon. Plans He would perform. (Jer 51:29). Plans to both use Babylon to judge other nations and then to use other nations to judge Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar, emperor of Babylon, was on the move, invading nations to expand His empire. Much like Putin. Invading Judah, He thought the battle plans, his; the strategies, his; the invasions, his; the victory over other nations, his. God said, “Nope. I’m only using you as my hammer to crush other nations that I want to judge.” (Jer 51:20). Whatever Putin has in mind, it’s what is in God’s mind that will prevail. As indubitably as God employed Babylon to judge Judah, He would then use the Persian/Medes to judge Babylon. He would “stir them up” to do that very thing. Again, the Persians/Medes would believe that it was their own conceived and invented intentions to conquer Babylon, but it was God’s purposes prevailing. And so forth, until this present day. I’m not saying God is using Russia to judge Ukraine. Not only do I not know specifically what’s in Putin’s mind, I don’t know what’s in God’s mind—although He has revealed His larger plan. It is an eschatological one of a global government led by the Antichrist. There is more movement among the nations happening in our world today than Putin’s invasion of Ukraine or China’s intentions to do the same of Taiwan. The world’s nations are moving to adjust to a new world order without the USA playing the role of a superpower. Somehow, the movements of nations today are a re-arranging of the world for that last government that excludes Christ--whether a particular nation or its leader has this in mind or not. That’s what God says will happen. That’s what He has in mind. God’s purposes are not, ultimately, to bring about the Antichrist’s one-world government. No! They are the establishment of Christ’s Millennial Government of Peace and Righteousness. That is where things are headed. The Antichrist’s one-world government is but a pre-cursory rebellion that God will crush and, then, consequentially, inaugurate Christ’s Kingdom on earth. It may yet be bothering some that, if all that is happening in our world is doing so according to God’s plans and purposes, how is God not culpable for the evil? Does not Putin have a freewill? Does not anyone? These are pertinent and huge questions. I have space to offer only a simple analogy: If an amateur plays a master chess player, the amateur makes free choices of where and how he moves his pieces. But the master chess player controls the board. It doesn’t matter the free choice of each movement the amateur makes; the master player has a plan to control the game. The master’s victory is inevitable and according to his strategic plan. It doesn’t matter what the amateur has in mind, thinks, plans. The master player is in control. In his mind, he sees the whole board and what moves need made however the amateur moves, whatever is the amateur’s mind. Yes, Putin is the amateur here. What is Putin’s plan? His purpose? What’s in Putin’s mind? It doesn’t matter. In the end, it’s only what is in God’s mind that matters. --Pastor Clifford Hurst P.S. If any thinks that I’m saying that it doesn’t matter what Russia is doing to the Ukrainian people my point has been missed. Of course, that matters greatly

DEDICATED TO CARDBOARD STRAWS AND SEA TURTLES

It’s unbelievable how trashy America has become. And I’m not talking about folks’ political talk, potty mouths, or perverted entertainment. I’m talking literally. Trash. Litter-ally. I know it is only anecdotal, but I do not believe I have ever seen so much litter along our roadways. To me, this is telling evidence of how degraded America has become. The ubiquitous trash is not only a sign of degradation, it is also a sign of the blatant hypocrisy of our society. Here's the irony: Our society, with righteous indignation against any who would disagree, decries the polluting of our environment. Global Warming alarmists have indoctrinated two generations of the need to save our planet by, for instance, banning gasoline and plastic straws. I admit they’ve done a bang-up job. They’ve been successful. Their disciples are rabid and radical in their insistence that others do this or don’t do that, use this, or don’t use that. They have transformed children into environmental police who scold their parents and others for infractions. They have successfully coerced and cajoled those who run food industry corporations into using cardboard straws. Every time I have no choice but to use a paper straw, I get annoyed. Some of it is that putting a paper straw in my mouth gives me the same awful irritation as biting and pulling a popsicle stick through my teeth or hearing nails scratching down a chalkboard. But there is a greater irritation. The hypocrisy of it all. To be clear, I believe in stewardship of our planet. That’s the main reason I find litter repugnant. We should take care of this planet. I don’t want to kill a sea turtle or an orca with my plastic straw. But my real beef about the litter on our roadways is the hypocrisy revealed by that litter. See, these “environmentalists” and their indoctrinated devotees are supposed to be all about saving our planet. They have been successful in getting students from kindergarten to college to go green, to protest against the use of plastic straws, to shame those who do not recycle. And, yet, those same students, many now adults, are littering our streets. All that litter can’t be coming from elderly red-necked, radical right-wingers. All that litter can’t be coming from sea turtle killers. There are tons of it. Much of it has to be coming from those (or their disciples) who insist we must give up gasoline-powered vehicles for electric ones to save this world from imminent conflagration. Yet, they throw their trash out of the windows of their electric car just as they did from their gas-guzzling one. I’ve, perhaps, convoluted my point with my rant, but it’s this: I’d like to ask the indoctrinators, “If you really care about saving this planet rather than just indoctrinating and controlling people’s lives, why don’t you teach these kids not to litter. I give you credit. You have gotten them to use brown paper bags at the grocery and brown paper straws in their soft drinks. You are good at this. So, if you really care about going green, why don’t you teach them not to litter.” Someone’s not teaching them. And if they really want to save the planet, why do they litter our highways?” It’s a different subject, but the point and the promulgators are the same; I would like to go on with, “You have taught them your version of tolerance. You have taught them everything is offensive from the names of our founders on monuments to using the name of original residents for a ball team. You’ve taught them you can’t even say “huMAN” because it is a slur against “woMEN.” Why don’t you teach them to have good manners?” “Again, I give you credit. You’ve changed our whole vocabulary, what we can and can’t say. Why can’t you teach not to curse, not to talk vulgar? You teach tolerance. Why can’t you teach folks not to spew hate at anyone with whom they may disagree?” “You say, ‘Everyone should be treated fairly,’ why don’t you teach manners of common courtesy and decency?” Never has there been such a lack of manners. Of course, there are exceptions but order a hamburger. The cashier most often will not even look at you. There is no common greeting. There is no, “Thank you.” On and on I could rant. But just one more thing to ask my strawman with the cardboard straws, “If you can see everything as discrimination of some sort or the other, some kind of phobia, why can you not see the bad manners? Why do bad manners not matter? Why do you have such bad manners when speaking to someone of a different persuasion?” If you’re waiting for a spiritual point and wondering if I have one, it’s this: We Christians must be careful lest we practice the same hypocrisy. Some that are so insistent on what, to them, constitutes a godly lifestyle, can be the cruelest, most gossipy, unfriendly, uncaring folks. Since I’m stuck on littering, let me illustrate with it. Once a minister wanted to go on a drive through the country to talk with me. He reprimanded me for having a different view on an issue ultra-conservatives consider taboo. As he was insisting I could not be conservative, holiness—or whatever he called it, he finished the candy bar he had been munching between barrages, wadded up the wrapper, rolled down the window, and tossed it out on the shoulder of the road. To me, all credence of his protestations of having a view more spiritual than mine went out the window with the wrapper. It happens on the other side of the spectrum (and everywhere in between too). Christians who insist it's all about love, love, love—tolerating any and everything, even embracing lifestyles of perverted sexuality--can become so hatefully caustic against any who insist that some things are sin, unbefitting a believer. Yes, in a sense, it does all come down to litter and manners. These really do reveal the kind of person, heart, and faith that we have. We cannot consistently act inconsistently to what we really are in our core. I want to be right in my core. I want to be consistent in my faith and practice. So, when the worker at the restaurant hands me a paper straw, I will say, “Thank you. Have a nice day.” And, I will not throw that irritating piece of cardboard out the window as I drive off. Maybe a sea turtle will be kind enough to thank me someday. --Pastor Clifford Hurst

What A WEREWOLF Has To Do With Jesus’ Promise To Never Leave Us

For this week’s blog, my obsession with words has won out over any sense of trying to write something that others might find interesting or relevant—though I hope they will. I fear many will take this musing as trivial minutia, needless nuance, but it really isn’t. It can make a world of difference in our understanding of some scriptures. The keyword of the last sentence was WORLD. It is necessary to set this up with a basic fact about translation: Two or more different words in one language are often translated into a single word in another language. Take WORLD for example: When we read in our Bibles, “For God so loved the WORLD...” (John 3:16), the Greek word of the original text that was translated WORLD is kosmos. The same is true in John 1:10, “He was in the WORLD and the WORLD was made by Him, and the WORLD knew Him not.” Each occurrence of WORLD in that verse is a translation of kosmos—speaking both of the material planet and the people on it. However, when Jesus makes that great promise of Matthew 28:20, “I am with you alway, even unto the end of the WORLD.”, WORLD is translating a completely different Greek word—aion. WORLD as aion means age, as in epoch, era, a period of time. If one doubts that, note that the Greek aion has found its way into our English. Aeon, or as we Americans spell it, eon. Eon is a long period of time, an age. Jesus’s promise was that He would be with His disciples always, even to the end of the EON, the AGE. This isn't to say that He would be with them unto the world, the planet Earth, was no more--though He will, but that He will be with them until the age in which they lived would end. Having known this, I always wondered why the KJV/Elizabethan English translated the Greek word for age (aion) as WORLD. Recently, during my reading and studying I stumbled over the reason: In old English “wer” was the word for “man” and “-eld” is our “old.” Put them together and you get wereld, or werold. Werold we now spell WORLD. By the way, say WORLD out loud. You most probably pronounced it (wer-eld). Werold meant literally how old a man was or a man’s age. A man’s age is how long he has existed. A man is a human. Thus, werold became the reference to the period of a person, persons, or humanity’s existence. Werald, written later as WORLD, came to refer to an AGE. As an asterisk but explanation of my title, if you struggle to believe that “wer” was once the word for "man," we still have words that preserve this meaning. Take werewolf. Werewolf is a compound noun that means "MAN—wolf." Well, back from mythical creatures to Jesus’ very real promise—“ I am with you alway, even unto the end of the WORLD,” uhm, “unto the end of the AGE. The disciples were on the brink of an awful period of time that would culminate with the destruction of Jerusalem and the slaughter of their people. In a broader meaning, they and the soon-to-be-many converts to Christ were on the brink of an age of persecution of believers. Yet, there’s an even broader meaning of “age” in Jesus’ promise. He often spoke of the Kingdom as existing in two ages. The present age and the age to come. God, earlier, and the NT believers, later, called the present age the Last Days. In its widest meaning, the age in which Jesus will be with His people is the Last Days, the period of perilous times, times of deception, times of wars, times of calamities, catastrophes, times of cosmic disturbances. By this promise, Jesus said He would be with His disciples whenever they lived, wherever they lived, whatever they faced until the completion of this age—the age of the Last Days. Yes, He will be with us to the end of this age, this world. Now, this is not the same as saying, “I will be with you to the bitter end.” Because, as Jesus clearly taught, the tumultuous age of the Last Days ends with His Return which will inaugurate the New Age, which will be eternal. He will always, eternally, be with us in that age as well. He will be with us to the end of this world, and we will be with Him in the next world. That world (age) never ends. That’s why the NT uses the aion twice in an expression to mean “forever.” Into the aionas aion. Into the eons of eons. Into the ages of ages. When you read those “for ever and ever, evermores,” in NT Scripture, those words referencing eternity, you are reading “into the ages of ages,” or as it’s put in Eph 3:21, “…world without end.” Jesus will be with us unto the end of this WORLD, until we get to the “world without end,” to the end of this age to the ages of ages. Whatever season of life you are in, whatever period of darkness, difficulty, despair, whatever kinds of time you’re living in—whatever the world you’re living in is like at this moment, Jesus has promised He will be with you until you’ve reached the end of it. He will be with you until this age ends and the age of ages begins. Until this world is over and the world without end begins. He’s with you in whatever time you’re in for its duration.