Victoria woke up this morning eager to play with the pipe cleaner pretzel she had made yesterday afternoon. For some reason it had captured her imagination and she had even dreamed about it during the night. She reached to the dresser top where she had safely hidden her precious creation, only to find it broken, destroyed. The child was absolutely heartbroken -- end of the world heartbroken.

Apparently the prized pipe cleaners had been discovered by her younger sister, who determinedly claimed them as her own art materials. She quickly turned the pretzel into a butterfly. The masterpiece was then left for Victoria to discover and treasure.

Unfortunately, midst the tears of a five-year-old's grief, the promise of the new creation was not seen or appreciated.

How similar that is for so many of God’s children who find themselves consumed with loss. We want to hold on so desperately to what we know, and that desperation keeps us from seeing the beauty of what lies ahead.

I wrote these words about a month ago and put them aside when I developed writer’s block. I did not know then why I was unable to continue, nor did I know how bittersweet they would be to share with you today.

The days between then and now have brought two losses into my life, both involving individuals who have deeply touched my life. Those lost have been as different from one another as possible. One was Clark Pinnock, a man significant to me as a mentor, a friend, and an inspiration. The other, a child of God not yet named, with no accomplishments, no status in the eyes of the world, no opportunity even to be born. Both were deeply loved, and both their deaths have brought heartbreak.

But we need not be limited to the grief a five year old has over a pipe cleaner pretzel. God has a far greater vision of what beauty and completion is all about. Being a human on earth is significant, but for the Christian believer it is only the beginning of the story. Butterflies are of far greater value than crushed pretzels, a fact most of us soon discover and treasure.

Through drying tears we can affirm with the Apostle Paul, who penned “My aim is to raise hopes by pointing the way to life without end. This is the life God promised long ago—and he doesn't break promises! (Titus 1:2, The Message)

What in the world is an evangelical?

It is a label that has been worn proudly by followers of Jesus Christ to describe their faith. It is also a label that has been used by others to pejoratively taunt Christians who do not measure up to their own religious standards -- whether those criticisms be of a liberal or fundamentalist bent. And finally it is a label whose meaning has shifted over the years to include a big tent of people who don’t necessarily agree with one another over many things secondary to the core of the gospel. And people thought being “Baptist” was hard to explain!

When I was a young man living in New Orleans Vieux Carre attending a Presbyterian church and studying at a Baptist seminary people would sometimes ask about my beliefs, since I didn’t seem to fit any commonly accepted stereotype. I would reply, “First, I am a Christian, second, I am an evangelical, and third, I am a Baptist.” That order still holds true for me today, more than a few years later.

An evangelical basically believes the good news of Jesus Christ and follows him.

The term has been around since at least the Protestant Reformation, when the church embraced the “gospel truth.” It took on a life of its own in the early 20th century, when it was used by Christians who wanted to separate themselves from the deadening liberal German theology that was causing American churches to die. Evangelicals in contrast had a core emphasis on four fundamentals of the faith: belief in the necessity of personal conversion, high regard for the truth of the Bible, and emphasis on the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and evangelism, or sharing the good news with others.

Over the years evangelicalism has continually redefined itself, but has held on to the core beliefs. One of the first directions the movement took was to embrace engagement with the world or culture in which people live, rather than retreating to the isolation and separation of fundamentalists. Led by people such as Harold John Ockenga of Boston’s Park Street Church and Billy Graham, evangelicals were well on their way to becoming the thriving, positive faith that is best representative of the good news of Christ.

There have been detours along the way. Most recently, the identification of evangelical Christianity with the political Religious Right has sabotaged the message of the gospel, replacing it with the core belief in one or two hot button issues. That captivity is being corrected today, as young evangelicals in various emerging and postmodern movements abandon a narrow political agenda and return to the four vital cores of faith. In a way, that is keeping the vision of William Tyndale, who in 1531 published the first English use of the word by writing “He exhorteth them to proceed constantly in the evangelical truth.”

May we always follow that vision, proceeding constantly in calling people to a personal relationship with God, upholding the truth of scripture, being centered in Christ’s death and resurrection, and telling everybody we know the good news. Everything else comes in second place!

Jon Dale Hevelone

I remember Memorial Day when I was a child. The part about the flowers I understood. Beginning days before, my dad and I would cut peonies from the bushes in our backyard, and stash the buds in No. 3 washtubs of cold water. By the time Memorial Day arrived, our basement looked as beautiful as any florist shop. (You remember No. 3 washtubs, don’t you? I used one of the galvanized steel barrels to bathe in the winter we lived in a house with no indoor facilities.)

We would load the Studebaker to the gills with peonies and head to the cemeteries. That part I didn’t understand. They were not particularly interesting to a child, and there were a lot of them. Mt. Muncie, Bethel, Huron Indian, Highland Park. There were more, and by the time we finished we had run out of flowers, and I had long run out of patience. All I knew is that’s where the dead people were, and I did not understand death, either.

I do now. I understand how utterly horrible and final death is, and how it puts an end to all we cherish and value as living human beings. As a young adult I spent years questioning and fearing death. If the grave is the natural end of everything, doesn’t that negate all the love, warmth, joy, light and happiness that life is supposed to hold? If the end goal of my life is to die and rot, doesn’t that make everything else rather hollow? Doesn’t it make the idea of a good God a cruel absurdity, or at least turn whoever is running the universe into a sadistic jokester? The act of dying may bring peace and relief from suffering, but death itself flies in the face of all that we assume is noble and right about human beings.

But I have learned more. I am now beginning to understand resurrection. Death is not the final answer. Resurrection is. Resurrection is not the vague idea of an indeterminate, spooky afterlife. Resurrection is not floating around on a cloud with a harp or (if you prefer) an electric guitar. Resurrection is not hanging around tombstones hoping for somebody to bring you peonies on Memorial Day. Resurrection is simply the most radical, intellectually satisfying solution to the problem of human existence conceivable. It is the only view of afterlife that allows an individual to survive death as a real, distinct individual with personality not only intact, but enhanced. Resurrection gives meaning to one’s present and future life -- if it is true.

Resurrection is a Christian idea. Its truth or falsehood is tied in totally with what you believe about God. Resurrection is the revelation of a God who is there for us and has provided a way for us to be there with him. It has been accomplished by his life poured into us through Jesus Christ his Son and our Savior. If you believe he is the way, the truth, and the life, then the biggest problem of human existence, death, is solved.

The peonies will continue to bloom in my front yard this year. I will not be able to go to the cemeteries where my loved ones are buried this Memorial Day. But I will be with them one day, that great day of Resurrection, when believers are reunited as bodies and souls are fused again into distinct, conscious, real, and complete individuals who are alive forever. This old body that once had to be washed clean in a No. 3 washtub will be spotless and perfect as a new creation in Christ. This I do not begin to understand, but I believe with all my heart and life.

The other day I stopped by an ice cream stand and walked away without even tasting so much as a free sample. There were so many flavors to choose from I was simply overwhelmed. Who needs cactus ice cream or olive oil gelato? Whatever happened to simple categories like chocolate, strawberry and vanilla?

I confess I long for the days when I could simplify this incredibly complex world in which I live. I used to believe there were good guys and there were bad guys. By some strange coincidence, I was always on the side of the good guys. By a miraculous trick of vision, I failed to see all the various hues of color that shaded everything around. Everything was black or white.

Part of this tunnel vision was due to my inexperience with the world. I just hadn’t lived enough. I believed my parents, I believed my teachers, I believed the politicians, and I believed the church leaders. But mainly I believed the Bible. I was an innocent young idealistic man who believed the Bible and took it at its every word. Literally. I knew the Bible was the Word of God, infallible in its teaching, inerrant in every word of the original manuscripts.

I still believe the Bible. I still believe it is the Word of God, infallible in its teaching, inerrant in every word of the original manuscript. In the words of the old Presbyterian catechism on which I was raised it is “the sole rule of faith and practice.”

It is just that I have discovered a problem. I have learned that I am neither inerrant nor infallible. I come to the Bible, and I often get it wrong. I read something, and let my normal way of thinking color what it says. I read something from the perspective of a middle class, evangelical semi-educated, male American and all my inculturated biases, prejudices, and quirky slants come into play. I read it and get what I want, instead of what God wants to say to me. I get cactus ice cream when God is trying to give me pure and yummy vanilla.

Not only do I make mistakes in properly understanding God’s truth, worse yet I make mistakes in practicing my faith. My mistakes -- some honest, some deliberately chosen, some as natural as sin -- keep me from receiving what God desires in my life. My sins keep me from being a better person, and the world around me a better place.

I have learned the truth of that old hymn “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus”: “the arm of flesh will fail you, ye dare not trust your own.” My own have failed me. My parents weren’t perfect. My teachers failed. Politicians lied for their own gain. Church leaders befriended, betrayed, and sometimes battered me. But most of all, the “arm of flesh” I’ve had to contend with most often is my own. I guess that qualifies me for the biblical category (remember chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla?) of sinner.

Some things in the Bible are quite black and white, and so simple even I understand. There is a category of people called “sinners” and it is actually so huge it includes us all. Thank God we can also be in another category, also quite huge, called “sinners saved by God’s grace.” Trouble is, even saved, our lives are sometimes more like olive oil gelato than something really tasty.