Ken Pierpont's Blog, page 171

In The Steps of Jesus

Today I leave for a ten-day tour of the Holy Land. I will be traveling with my own photographer (Lois). We are deeply grateful to God for moving the hearts of others to gift this trip of a lifetime to us. We will have stories to tell and, I'm sure, beautiful pictures upon our return.

Hats off to Handy Men

You should always respect people for their God-given gifts and skills. Every person has a set of attitudes. Every believer has a special gifting from the Holy Spirit. If you want to function well as a couple or have a happy family or harmonious church, learn to respect one-another's bents and aptitudes and gifts and skills.

My toilet malfunctioned once. I decided to take the project in hand myself. I'm a word-guy and a people-guy. Household repairs and automobile-maintenance don't come naturally to me.

I have learned a few things over the years. You might want to make a note of this if you are not particularly handy. When you work on your toilet-turn off the water-supply. I should have known to turn off the water supply…

For some reason the water-tank would not fill. I could not figure out why. I took off the lid to the tank and began to blindly fiddle with the apparatus. Another note. Don't just fiddle with things if you don't know what you are doing. Until you know something to do, don't do anything at all.

Turn off the water supply and Google the repair on-line so you have at least some intelligent approach to take. Call a friend. Pay a plumber if you have to but don't just start blindly fiddling with things.

Back to my repair narrative. I'm fiddling with the apparatus. Fiddle. Fiddle. Nothing. Fiddle more. Nothing. Finally I accidentally clear the tiny obstruction to the water-flow. As soon as I do the water under pressure explodes in my face. It is an impressive geyser of water which, unobstructed would have shot ten feet in the air. The water is shockingly cold. I lurch upward and hit the back of my head on the over-hanging cabinet. The force of the blow knocks my glasses off. They fall into the tank. I fish for them. The water continues to soak the cabinet and me and most of the room. Finally I fall to my knees and turn off the water-supply. I put the thing back together, clean up the mess.

Lois calls from the other room. "Everything OK?"

"Yup, I gotter. We're all good now."

I emerge from the room wiping my hands on a rag like an old pro feigning manliness. "Anything else need fixed? No? Very good. I'm heading for the library."

It's spring. I have things to do around the house. I need an intelligent and orderly approach to things. It is my manly duty. Duty calls. I'm going downstairs to get my tool box. Pray for me.

P.S. If you are woman married to a handy man. Get down on your knees and thank God for him. Make him a wonderful dinner. Light candles. Give him a back rub. You are blessed.

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

March 21, 2011

Social Media

I hear a lot of people who complain about social media—you know—Facebook, Twitter, etc. I know social media can be used for bad things. I know many are suspicious social media are a waste of time and create friction between people. I'm sure they can and do… because the people who use them are sinners so they are capable of things like wasting time and getting into friction—but my personal perspective is different.

I like social media when it's used right. I am into people. Sometimes I like to hole-up and get away to myself, but it usually sounds a lot neater than it is. I'm really not at all a loner. I like to study and write and when I am actively doing that I need relative quietness and freedom from interruption, but I speak and write for people. I like people. I like to be around people. I like to communicate to and with people. I get energy and ideas from people. People motivate, irritate, inspire, agitate, stimulate, and frustrate me. I like people around me. I need people around me. I'm a people person.

Once in a great while I find myself with a few hours or a few days to be almost alone. When I was working on my master's degree in Chicago, for example, I would find my self alone when class was done for the day. Since my home at the time included ten people, I looked forward to the silence and the solitude that a week away to study would provide. I always had a satchel of books and a mind full of plans about what I would accomplish. After class I would eat, hike to my silent room, open a book or my laptop and, inevitably, I would find myself unable to think or read or write with ringing silence in my ears and my insides stirring like they did on a spring day as a child when my sadistic teacher punished me for being too full of energy to finish my math problems by forcing me to stay in from recess day after spring day to do more math problems.

(I don't resent this teacher for this kind of behavior but I have pitied her all my life. She was a good lady and I know she meant well. I attended her funeral with my dad and I remember breaking the heavy silence on the way home to tentatively inquire with my dad if he thought I contributed to her death in any way. He gently assured me that I was only one of dozens of challenging students that she had survived over the years. Dad told me that she may have contributed to their discomfort, but it was unlikely that any of us were responsible for her death. Dad even said that she was a believer. That conflicted me a little, because it sure wasn't Christian what she did to me on spring days when I couldn't concentrate on long interminable columns of arithmetic problems).

Anyway, in Grad School I usually had to toss some things in a bag and get out of the room. To do some reading or writing it helped to go the library where other people were around or hike to a busy shop with gurgling coffee and hissing milk steamers and fragrant espresso and the ambient noise of people murmuring around me. After a brisk walk, with a mug of stout coffee steaming in front of me I could usually get on my game and crank out the work in a setting like that. I'm social that way.

I just don't do well alone for long. I have a lot of energy. I've often met people who think before they speak. I admire that. I'm sure it frustrates people, but I often think while I'm talking. My mind works more like fireworks than a flowchart. I need a lot of stimulation, a lot of conversation, a lot of interaction, so social media are just more opportunities for ministry, conversation, laughter, interaction, stimulation—more people to hear my stories. More people around me with stories to tell. I'm proud to have over 2500 "friends" on Facebook.

Jesus spent time in the wilderness, but you would often find him in the marketpace teaming with sinners and broken people. He moved among needy people. He connected with lepers, religious types, people with dark pasts and shameful lives. He often spoke to multitudes. Whole cities and villages came out to be near him. Sometimes he didn't even have enough time to eat, so he would get away to the wilderness where multitude followed him, where ironically, he took responsibility to feed them. Jesus loved being among people.

I love the marketplace. Today social media are like the electronic marketplace. Social media are the means common people express their convictions and their prejudice and their ignorance and their weaknesses and their love and their dreams and their aspirations and their hopes and their desires. They reveal their past and their passions. They post their favorites, their likes and dislikes. They announce their celebrations and they lament their pain. Read it. It's right there for you to see, usually with photos or sometimes even video documentation.

So I'm there on Facebook and Twitter. I post and comment and listen. I laugh, I weep, I pray, I grieve. That just what you do when you are around people. As often as I can I use electronic means to create real, live, person-to-person and face-to-face relationships. That's just one of the ways I hope to make my mark for Christ and for His Kingdom in the short season of my life on this earth as it is today.

So you can read my blog. You can get my weekly e-mail newsletter (It's over ten years old). You can subscribe to my RSS feed. You can comment on my articles and stories. You can be my friend on Facebook. Treat me nice and I will send you "Tweets."

Pastor Ken Pierpont

Evangel Baptist Church—Taylor, Michigan

Granville Cottage

March 11, 2011

I hear a lot of people who complain about social media—y...

I hear a lot of people who complain about social media—you know—Facebook, Twitter, etc. I know social media can be used for bad things. I know many are suspicious social media are a waste of time and create friction between people. I'm sure they can and do… because the people who use them are sinners so they are capable of things like wasting time and getting into friction—but my personal perspective is different.

I like social media when it's used right. I am into people. Sometimes I like to hole-up and get away to myself, but it usually sounds a lot neater than it is. I'm really not at all a loner. I like to study and write and when I am actively doing that I need relative quietness and freedom from interruption, but I speak and write for people. I like people. I like to be around people. I like to communicate to and with people. I get energy and ideas from people. People motivate, irritate, inspire, agitate, stimulate, and frustrate me. I like people around me. I need people around me. I'm a people person.

Once in a great while I find myself with a few hours or a few days to be almost alone. When I was working on my master's degree in Chicago, for example, I would find my self alone when class was done for the day. Since my home at the time included ten people, I looked forward to the silence and the solitude that a week away to study would provide. I always had a satchel of books and a mind full of plans about what I would accomplish. After class I would eat, hike to my silent room, open a book or my laptop and, inevitably, I would find myself unable to think or read or write with ringing silence in my ears and my insides stirring like they did on a spring day as a child when my sadistic teacher punished me for being too full of energy to finish my math problems by forcing me to stay in from recess day after spring day to do more math problems.

(I don't resent this teacher for this kind of behavior but I have pitied her all my life. She was a good lady and I know she meant well. I attended her funeral with my dad and I remember breaking the heavy silence on the way home to tentatively inquire with my dad if he thought I contributed to her death in any way. He gently assured me that I was only one of dozens of challenging students that she had survived over the years. Dad told me that she may have contributed to their discomfort, but it was unlikely that any of us were responsible for her death. Dad even said that she was a believer. That conflicted me a little, because it sure wasn't Christian what she did to me on spring days when I couldn't concentrate on long interminable columns of arithmetic problems).

Anyway, in Grad School I usually had to toss some things in a bag and get out of the room. To do some reading or writing it helped to go the library where other people were around or hike to a busy shop with gurgling coffee and hissing milk steamers and fragrant espresso and the ambient noise of people murmuring around me. After a brisk walk, with a mug of stout coffee steaming in front of me I could usually get on my game and crank out the work in a setting like that. I'm social that way.

I just don't do well alone for long. I have a lot of energy. I've often met people who think before they speak. I admire that. I'm sure it frustrates people, but I often think while I'm talking. My mind works more like fireworks than a flowchart. I need a lot of stimulation, a lot of conversation, a lot of interaction, so social media are just more opportunities for ministry, conversation, laughter, interaction, stimulation—more people to hear my stories. More people around me with stories to tell. I'm proud to have over 2500 "friends" on Facebook.

Jesus spent time in the wilderness, but you would often find him in the marketpace teaming with sinners and broken people. He moved among needy people. He connected with lepers, religious types, people with dark pasts and shameful lives. He often spoke to multitudes. Whole cities and villages came out to be near him. Sometimes he didn't even have enough time to eat, so he would get away to the wilderness where multitude followed him, where ironically, he took responsibility to feed them. Jesus loved being among people.

I love the marketplace. Today social media are like the electronic marketplace. Social media are the means common people express their convictions and their prejudice and their ignorance and their weaknesses and their love and their dreams and their aspirations and their hopes and their desires. They reveal their past and their passions. They post their favorites, their likes and dislikes. They announce their celebrations and they lament their pain. Read it. It's right there for you to see, usually with photos or sometimes even video documentation.

So I'm there on Facebook and Twitter. I post and comment and listen. I laugh, I weep, I pray, I grieve. That just what you do when you are around people. As often as I can I use electronic means to create real, live, person-to-person and face-to-face relationships. That's just one of the ways I hope to make my mark for Christ and for His Kingdom in the short season of my life on this earth as it is today.

So you can read my blog. You can get my weekly e-mail newsletter (It's over ten years old). You can subscribe to my RSS feed. You can comment on my articles and stories. You can be my friend on Facebook. Treat me nice and I will send you "Tweets."

Pastor Ken Pierpont

Evangel Baptist Church—Taylor, Michigan

Granville Cottage

March 11, 2011

Omahoma Bob's BBQ

If you ever have a reason to be in our near Wooster, Ohio. You want to arrange to do it on an empty stomach so you can satisfy your appetite at a quaint little spot on the town square called Omahoma Bob's BBQ. It is tucked in the southwest corner of the town square in a little storefront with both interior walls of red brick. The sauce was sweet and tangy. There was only one choice. I couldn't imagine wanting any other kind. I've had some BBQ in my time…never any to beat Omahoma Bob's.

My only complaint was that I had to eat alone… I had no one with me to rave about the food. I had a three-meat sampler with pulled pork, tender pork loin slices and perfect double-smoked beef brisket. I had a side of baked macaroni and cheese. The soup of the day was ham and bean. If I ever get within 30 miles of Wooster again I will return and bring someone with me the share the experience. It rained a cold rain all day. When I return I will try to arrange a balmy spring or summer evening and enjoy my BBQ outside with a cold, sweet lemonade. I try to eat a lot of fruits and vegetables so when I stumble into one of these opportunities I can take full advantage of it.

Holmes County

This evening we are in Holmes County, Ohio. Lois has a wedding and I worked hard to have a day off to enjoy some of my favorite old places in the beautiful Ohio Amish Country. I'll be in the Evangel pulpit twice on Sunday. Chuk is helping her shoot the wedding so we decided to feed him. I took a picture of his lunch. It tasted even better than it looked. He chased this with double-crust blackberry pie. tomorrow I'm sure I'll be making my way to Miller's Bakery for some cheese tarts. Monday I'll be back on may raw fruit and veggies, green smoothies, nuts and berries.

Don't Trifle

I was just finishing some yard work when I saw a Hispanic man drive up in a pick-up truck. A young man was with him, later I found out it was his son. I smiled and waved, he smiled a waved back. They unloaded some equipment and went to work. I finished packing my things away.

They had not been there five minutes when suddenly there was a load bang. The young began to scream over the noise of the power equipment, "Father, father! My father is hurt. Help me. Help me." His English was broken. I could tell he was having difficulty making himself understood.

I ran over to help. His father was on the ground with a huge gash in his leg. Blood was everywhere. I pulled out my cell phone to call 911. Blood splattered on the face of the cell phone and I miss-dialed twice because I could not read the numbers. The old man's leg was bleeding badly. His son was trying to tie a tourniquet around his leg. I couldn't hear the voice of the other end of the line. I ran out into the street to get away from the noise.

I tried to be calm so that I would not have to repeat myself and waste more time. The 911 operator was speaking in a casual unhurried manner, asking for details that did not seem vital.

I started to shout, "Please get an ambulance here right a way. I man is bleeding to death." I ran toward the end of the block to read the road sign so that I could tell them the name of the street. I ran back to tell them the house number.

It was a beautiful autumn day and there was a little church bazaar being conducted on the street. I woman called to me, "Would you like some roasted chestnuts or pumkin pie? We have fresh coffee and apple cider, too" She must have thought me rude. I couldn't even respond. The very idea of stopping to explain to her was repulsive. Less than a block away a young man was struggling to keep his father from bleeding to death.

In the distance I could hear the siren coming closer. I stood back while they quickly loaded him up and drove away. I stood and listened to the music drifting over from the church. There was a murmur of peoples voices, the smell of food, and the sound of wind blowing through what leaves were still clinging to the trees.

My heart would not stop pounding. I walked back through the garage into the backyard. The equipment lay silent on the ground. Blood was everywhere, and parts of the man's clothing torn away in the desperate struggle to save his life. The old red Ford pick-up sat facing the alley with the tail-gate down.

My head was swimming. I got in the car and rushed to the hospital. I parked my car and hurried across the parking lot into ER as the sun slipped from sight. When I got into the Emergency Room they showed me into the room where the man was being treated. The young man sat beside his father with his head in his hands sobbing deep, soul-wracking sobs. "He's gone, my father is gone. He's gone. We didn't get here in time. Too late. He's gone."

I put my arm around his shoulders and cried with him. In that moment nothing else in the world seemed to matter at all. Everything else seemed to trivial and foolish compared to the tragedy of violent death I had just witnessed.

I sat in my car for a long time unable to drive away, wondering if I had been faster, or if I had known first aid better, if the man would still be alive, the boy would still have a father.

I started my car. The cell phone rang. "I'll be right home. I'm sorry. I've been delayed. … No, go ahead and start supper without me, I'm not hungry. I'm really not feeling well. I love you. I'll see you soon."

When I closed the phone I could see my hand and the phone were covered with the blood of the man I tried to save.

I drove back passed the little church. It was so quaint. People were putting things away. Light was shinning out onto the street. The people there were completely unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded a little over a block away during their church bazaar. People are dying, they are dying within sight of our churches, dying all around us. How can we trifle away our lives.

In my mind I could see the face of a pastor friend telling the story of Charles Simeon pointing to the portrait of Henry Martyn, missionary to India who had only a few brief years of service before his death and saying, "Don't trifle, Don't trifle."

And then, mercifully my cell phone began to ring. I use it for an alarm clock. To my relief the whole tragedy had been born and lived and died in my dream. My alarm rescued me from a nighmare, but the phrase remained in my mind: "Don't trifle. Don't trifle."

J. C. Ryle tells the story: "At Cambridge, the other day, I saw a picture of Henry Martyn, bequeathed by Mr. Simeon to the public library. A friend informed me that that picture used to hang in Mr. Simeon's room, and that when he was disposed to trifle in the work of the ministry, he used to stand before it and say, "It seems to say to me, Charles Simeon, don't trifle, don't trifle; Charles Simeon, remember whose you are, and whom you serve." And then the worthy man, in his own strange way, would bow respectfully, and say, "I will not trifle, I will not trifle; I will not forget."

'Tis not for man to trifle; life is brief

And sin is here.

Our age is but the falling of a leaf,

A dropping tear.

We have not time to sport away the hours;

All must be earnest in a world like ours. -Horatius Bonar

Ken Pierpont

Riverfront Character Inn

Flint, Michigan

November 14, 2005

Wintersong

Ten inches of snow fell last night from about 3 o'clock Sunday afternoon to about midnight. I had some shoveling to do. There were ten inches in the Granville Cottage driveway.

I dragged my heals getting going reading news on my iPad and then warmed-up the car and went to the gym like a sleigh-ride. When I got home I started clearing the snow. Something about lawn-mowing and snow shoveling clear my mind and stimulate creative thinking like a Venti black brewed Sarbucks coffee with four shots of espresso.

While I was throwing snow with my old-fashioned shovel I heard a familiar musical sound. I straitened my back and stood in silence listening. The dominant sounds were the wind and a familiar bird song. It was the two-note song of the black-capped chickadee.

The black-capped chickadee is the state bird of Maine and Massechuetts and the Provincial bird of New Brunswick in Canada. But this one was a Michigan Chickadee. He was perched in our pear tree alone this morning singing his two-note song for all the winter world to hear.

The black-capped chickadee doesn't migrate in the winter though he may move south within his range. On cold winter nights he can reduce his body temperature by 10-12 degrees to conserve energy.

He may have been singing to entertain me while I shoveled, but the experts say chickadees are popular with other birds because they have the habit of calling out when they have found a source of food. Maybe he was just repeating his little two-note restaurant review for the other neighborhood birds to hear.

They say that during the winter some chickadees will take seeds out of your hand if they are accustomed to humans. You can find videos of this on the Internet.

I was walking along a footpath following a ridge on the West shore of Wolf Lake near Watersmeet, Michigan one winter day when I heard a flourish of music in a fir tree at about my eye level. It was a chickadee party. I walked over to them. They made no attempt to leave. I could have reached out and touched them. Some of them hopped toward me on a branch. They looked directly at me as if they were curious. I stood there in the white, green and silver world of the winter forest and frozen lake and watched them for a while without moving. It still makes me smile when I think about it.

Last summer Chuk trapped a chickadee in the backyard for a pet. Everyone told him he couldn't do it but he did. He held the bird for a day or two and then released him back into the wild world where he belonged. Maybe he came back this morning and sang up in the pair tree while I was clearing snow to say thanks.

It's cold outside and after an almost spring-like week it's winter again. But I'm still singing. I like white and icy better than gray and brown and wet.

Ken Pierpont

Granville Cottage

Riverview, Michigan

February 21, 2011

A Flyover of Ezra: The Good Hand of Our God

Date: 02/20/2011 PM

Speaker: Ken Pierpont

Series: A Flyover of the Bible

Taking Sexual Sin Seriously; Matthew 5:27-30

02/20/11 6:00 AM

Speaker: Ken Pierpont

Series: Matthew's Gospel