Power? What Power?

2010-01-20T21:02:00.015-05:00

For the past couple weeks I have come to realize that power is a tricky thing. More specifically "electrical power." In our home we have come to realize that a tug-o-war will begin between the living room television and the second floor bathroom "Hair Dryer". It all started one Monday morning on my day off, I was sitting on the couch watching some Today Live- with Kathy & Hoda when I heard my wife enter the bathroom and plug in the hair dryer and "BLOOP!" The T.V. and everything plugged into the outlet just died.

It really makes me think about where power really comes from. I know generators and power plants but I was thinking more about my life. The power to wake up in the morning, to get out of bed, hug my daughter and kiss my wife. What gives us the drive or power to live? and Why for some has that power just turned off like a hair dryer plugged into a bathroom outlet?

I know that there are those that believe in a greater force out there or maybe even those who don't. My personnal belief is that the source of power comes from someone that can generate & supply the power.

If power brings things to life or at least gets them moving, then the power source must be life itself or be able to produce it. In the Bible I believe Job had it right. "The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life." Job 33:4 This from a man that saw his family crushed by his house and that was just the beggining. He could of easily, "Turned Off" his faith in God but instead he new that True Life comes from God.

Sometimes the power goes out because of pain, depression, hurt and plain old tiredness. But remember that God is both LIFE and POWER and freely gives it to those who ask. Sometimes we just have to ask him to flip the breaker!

"What Battle are we really fighting?"

2007-10-18T09:24:00.000-04:00

“WHAT BATTLE ARE WE REALLY FIGHTING?”

I would like to first start off by sharing three paragraphs from writing on the civil war taken from the online site: http://www.civilwarhome.com/spies.htm

That war of over one hundred and thirty years ago produced the nation's first mass armies and a brutality and mechanized slaughter that shocked the sensibilities of the day. It had aircraft-balloons that floated over the lines-submarines, ironclad warships, automatic guns, trenches, a military draft-and the first organized espionage that the country ever knew. On both sides the spying involved treachery, filching of official secrets, and the skillful seduction of loyalty. This war between Americans probably saw more espionage, involving more people, than any in our history. It has been called the first of the modem conflicts; it was also the last of the romantic ones. In its spying, the generation that thrilled in admiration of Sir Walter Scott usually observed "rules" of knightly, or at least gentlemanly, conduct. Had that not been true, had Northern and Southern leaders not played Ivanhoe on endless occasions, scores of undercover agents would never have survived to tell their stories. It was a spy-conscious war, and sometimes it seemed that everybody was spying on everybody else and talking volubly on the subject, in newspapers, parlors, bars, and at street corners. Nevertheless, few officials did anything to stop the enemy's espionage. The present-day reader may be astonished at the ease with which agents made their way across the lines and through opposition territory. Repeatedly they presented themselves to civilian and military officials, pumped them of information, and rode off with a bright good-by.

In our personal worldview and idea of the advancement that we have made, in what we call the Christian Movement I am perplexed. “What about, you may ask?” I am perplexed by the realization that we might not be fighting the war we think we enlisted for. Throughout history, lines have been drawn, sides have been chosen and countries engaged in war.

During the Civil War we literally saw a different type of war; a war where, “brother attacked brother.” Families were ripped apart by their own personal convictions and beliefs. Where a young child-like nation began to grow the, “growing pains of adolescence” as we call it started taking their toll. As the body count accelerated on fields, the painful reality began to sink into those who watched from only yards away. Tucked into there Colonial homes and looking through single pane windows, the field that once held horses and memories of childhood now housed tents of war and a family feud that caused a nation to split.

Why the civil war? Why do I bring up such a moment in history? Friends, family brothers and sisters, we are repeating history and have been for some time. It has not been physically but spiritually. We have been fighting each other over land that we assume belongs to us. We are using means of attaining power that have no glimmer of honesty, character, integrity or Godly ordination. We have been fighting the wrong war.

The Lord showed me a vision and what is happening to our Christian brothers and sisters on the battlefield of our churches on a daily basis. I am not claiming this to be prophetic or even hermeneutically sound, but more a parable of sorts that we can possibly extract some truth from, in order to heed a warning before it is too late.

I see a battle between two armies outside my window. It is a war that is not fought against or for foreigners, but those friends and neighbors that I grew up alongside many years. As I look out on the battlefield it is evident to me that no security can be found as to which side is winning. Observing from a distance is no longer possible I must enter the battle and evaluate each side for myself. As I walk off the freshly painted porch that still has the smell of peanut oil and cedar, I can only imagine what I am going to experience in this war that has engulfed my own flesh and blood, my people, my land. As I travel to the west of the porch I can see a tent where a general has plans laid out on a table. It is evident that he is weary and overcome with sorrow. As he brushes the hair from his face that at one time was held back with ribbon, I can see his eyes focusing on the topography of the land he was commissioned to inhabit. He was a simple man not placed to this position of leadership because of his personal choice but from the mandate of a higher power. His name is…Pastor. He focused on where he was told to go and fueled by promises of victory and dreams of fulfilling his mandate with honor and valor. Outside the leadership tent where he dwelled were those who agreed to follow and give their lives.

When looking over the faces of those waiting for orders, I could see men and women. Young faces and those faces with wisdom that only comes through age, new recruits and those who have seen their share of war.

I walked across this field to the other side, the side of what I assumed at the time to be the enemy. It was here where my heart sank. It was here where I saw the medical tent. A tent, when by entering it you could feel pain, hurt and despairs all within the first glance. Cots aligned the foundation of this tent like rolls on a platter. As I began to look around I began to hear a sound that seemed familiar to me but it was so distance and faint that I excused it from my attention. I found a man that needed help attaining his canteen so he could drink water. As I knelt down to assist him with it I realized that he could not see because the bandage was so tightly wrapped around is face. The bandage was called… bitterness.
As I offered to help him unbandage his already healed eyes, he told me this was not necessary and that he was where he wanted to be, and in fact it was I who was truly blind.
As I sat starring at this man he told me how he fought for many generals and how he was the best soldier in this tent. But it was his choice to no longer fight. He was cared for here in the tent; he could up hold his glory from yesterdays as well as never experience failure. He was at home in this tent, the tent of… idleness.

I quickly began to realize that this was not a tent of the enemy but a tent of those brothers and sister who have fought along others. I realized as I saw each face in that tent, these men and women were not wounded. I could not believe my eyes; an army of soldiers that lived day and night in this tent, wrapped in past bandages of hurt, brokenness, rejection and mostly disobedience. Disobedience? Yes, disobedience. For these soldiers entered a battle that was not their’s to fight. These soldiers disobeyed commands of patience, prudence, submission and servant hood. Through their disobedience they had formed there own army, the army of…Rebellion. I began to feel the need to quickly leave this tent, as I tripped over cots and bodies I heard that faint small voice again. This time I chose not to ignore it. As I closed my eyes the voice that started as a whisper became very clear as the voice spoke, “Rise, SERVE, SUBMIT, and ENDURE!” I realized that I must leave this tent that this was not where I should be and that my life was to rise up and serve my General. I was to submit to his battle plan and endure the challenges of wanting to fight this war my way. I was to run to the tent of my leader.

As I began fervently running I saw a man putting on the garments of the army that I was desiring to serve. He smiled to me and called out, “Friend!” As I slowed down from my run he called out to me, “Wait for me… I have something to tell you.” Without invitation this soldier began telling me stories of the army and of generals of the past. How he was looked over for strategic positions and how I have not been informed of all the latest detail of who the General really is. My ears began to hurt and even bleed. The ringing in my ears began to drown out the call I had heard in the tent. It was then that I realized that I was wounded. What should I do? Should I go back to the tent and bandage this wound or continue to the tent of my general. It was here where I realized that the soldier that was so quick to call me “Friend,” was in fact a spy, a soldier set to deter me from my course and to infiltrate my army’s camp and eventually destroy my General. The soldiers name was… Deception.

With my hands on my ears I ran to the tent of my General. I ran the whole way screaming, “I will Rise, I will SERVE, I will SUBMIT and I will ENDURE!” As I screamed these words my heart began to change. I not only agreed with what I was saying, but I had begun to believe it. As I moved my hands from my ears, there was no sign of blood and the ringing of my ears had stopped. All that was left was the sound of my Pastor, “Well done good and faithful Soldier.”

It is clear to me now that if we are to survive these next seasons on earth we must leave the tent of idleness and run to our Pastor, General and Master and throw our hands up and
say, “I will Rise, I will SERVE, I will SUBMIT and I will ENDURE… because I have heard HIS voice.”

Fight the right enemy, battle in the right War, serve the true General.

Your brother on the field,
Rev. Joshua Escobar

The Cry from Within

Power? What Power?

"What Battle are we really fighting?"