Wednesday, January
18, 2017
“Besides, who
would patch old clothing with new cloth? For the new patch would shrink and rip away
from the old cloth, leaving an even bigger tear than before. “And no one puts new wine into old wineskins.
For the old skins would burst from the
pressure, spilling the wine and ruining the skins. New wine is stored in new wineskins so that
both are preserved.” Matthew 9:16-17(NLT)
I grew up in an era that
warned that the preacher was a stern, looking-over-your-shoulder,
rain-on-anybody's-party, warden. I
didn't want to go to the Hell I'd heard about in countless, endless
sermons. Church was boring, the same
songs over and over. But, it was worth
enduring it all, just not to go to Hell.
Then P.A.K.O. came to be our
Pastor. Pastor A. Kenneth
Olsen was no warden. He played
football and softball with the youth. He
sang, and even told a joke on himself from the pulpit. He actually smiled often, and seemed to like
kids. I wasn't all that convinced
though. There could be a warden hidden
beneath. Most adults would rattle your
cage if things got heated.
I didn't consciously mean to
push for a peek inside P.A.K.O. It just
happened. He took 12 or 15 teenage boys
on a canoeing/camping trip. A cardinal
rule was that no canoe would strike out alone; always the buddy system! A second rule seemed self evident, no
standing up in a canoe! Paul, Eddie and
I broke both rules. The three of us got
bored with the conventional system and, while noone else was looking, rigged a
sail with our tent and paddles, and set out across the lake late in the
afternoon.
The early evening found us in
the middle of the lake, with rough winds kicking up the deep waters. Having more fun than sense caused the canoe
to capsize, dumping three poor-swimmer teenagers into unfriendly waters. We were in the water for what seemed hours,
unable to right the soggy canoe; we were clinging for dear life.
When we first saw the power
boat coming our way it was still too far to see who was coming to our
rescue. As it approached, my stomach did
ambivalent flips. P.A.K.O. was in the
bow of the boat. I was relieved that I
was going to live; I just wasn't sure how long.
P.A.K.O. didn't look happy!
We were fished out of bone
chilling waters, and surrounded by itchy (but warmly comforting) Army
blankets. P.A.K.O. said only five words,
Are you boys all right? Our nods satisfied him that we were going to
make it, and he then hugged all three of us.
Then he laughed out loud. Then we
all did. We laughed all the way back to
the camp.
The songs around the campfire
that night were better than the way the same old songs used to sound. The crackle of the fire was crisper, the air
cleaner. The hot dogs and dehydrated
banana chips tasted like Prime Rib and heavenly manna.
That night was my first taste
of new wine. I had been a fearful sipper at first. But that first taste was better than anything
I'd ever known. To my knowledge P.A.K.O.
never even mentioned the incident to my parents. He never said anything to me. He just wanted us close; and we wanted to be
close to him. That is how I know it was new wine.
Our heavenly Father wants us
close. There's no way to build a bridge
up to him, or rig a sail on a canoe to get there. All attempts like that leave you dumped and
drowning in a raging lake. The secret of
powerful joy is like a powerboat coming to rescue. In the bow of that boat stands the cross of
Christ. He comes to you. You simply let Him!
For You Today
Don't spill the wine. Surrender it all today and every day. Only new wineskins can hold that kind of joy.
NOTES
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