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            After my herb bed gave me fits one year, Keith spent some time completely digging it out and replacing the dirt with potting soil and composted manure.  That was $90 worth of dirt!  That means I am spending a lot more time, and even more money, caring for it so the original costs won’t be wasted.

            I have gone to a real nursery to find plants, larger and more established (and more expensive) than the discount store 99 cent pots.  I have dug trenches for some scalloped stone borders to help keep the encroaching lily bed out of it, and to dissuade any critters that might hide beneath the shed behind the bed from using it as a back door.

            I water it every day, and fertilize it every other week.  I pull out anything that somehow blows in and seeds itself in my precious black soil. 

            I have seedlings planted to finish the bed, varieties of herbs that are difficult to find as plants, which I had to carry in and out of the house time and time again due to the fluctuating spring temperatures.  Then they were transplanted into ever-increasing sized cups as they outgrew their tiny seed sponges, before finally reaching their permanent home in the herb garden bed. 

            I have invested so much time, energy, and money into this herb garden that I am not about to let it die.

            Why is it that we will work ourselves silly because of a monetary investment, while at the same time neglecting other things much more important to our lives?

            How about your marriage?  I say to every young couple I know, “Marriage is a high maintenance relationship.”  Right now, they think they will always be this close, always share every joy and every care.  They think there will never come a time when she wonders if he still loves her, or he wonders if she cares at all about the problems he must deal with at work.

            Life gets in the way.  If you want to stay as close as you are during that honeymoon phase, you have to tend your little garden.  Fix his favorite meal.  Send her flowers.  Put a love note in his lunchbox.  Take out the garbage without being asked.  Find a babysitter and go out on a date.  Just sit down after the kids are in bed--make them go to bed, people--and talk to each other.  And listen!  Pray together.  Study together.  Worship together.  Laugh together.  Cry together.

            What about your relationship with God?  Do you think you can maintain a close relationship with someone you don’t know?  He gave you a whole book telling you who He is, 1 Cor 2:11-13.  How much time do you spend with it?  How often do you talk to Him?  How can He help you when you never ask?  How can you enjoy being in the presence of someone with whom you have nothing in common?  Disciples want nothing more than to become like their teachers, 1 Pet 2:21,22; 2 Pet 3:18.

            None of that comes without effort.  You must spend some time and energy, maybe even make a few sacrifices to cultivate your relationship with God.  When you have invested nothing, it means nothing to you, and it shows. 

            Spend some time today improving your marriage, tending to your family relationships, cultivating your love and care for your brethren, and most of all, caring for your soul—pulling out the weeds, feeding it, nursing it along--so it will grow into a deeper, stronger, more fruitful relationship with your God.

Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap according to kindness; break up your fallow ground; for it is time to seek Jehovah, till he come and rain righteousness upon you, Hosea 10:12.

Dene Ward

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(Today’s blog is by guest writer Lucas Ward)

Snakes are a fact of life in North Central Florida. Out in the rural area I grew up in -- a mix of cow fields, piney woods and swamplands -- we had eastern diamondback rattlesnakes, timber rattlesnakes, cottonmouth moccasins, pygmy rattlesnakes, coral snakes and the occasional copperhead. Not to mention the many varieties of non-venomous snakes. One of the first things Dad taught us was to watch where we were walking. You kept your eyes on the ground 10-15 feet ahead of you and swept your eyes back and forth 7-8 feet on each side of the path you were walking. If you wanted to look up and admire the sky/clouds/trees then you stopped walking and looked up. You then looked back down at the ground before taking your first step. Since snakes are very well camouflaged, you don't look for snakes, you look for smoothness and roundness. Whether walking through high grass or brambles or through the forest, smooth, round things stand out of you are looking for them. While you may not see that diamondback rattler as a snake in the pile of leaves under the shrub, you will likely notice something smooth against the more jagged background. Nathan and I got very good at seeing the snakes and staying away from them. Whenever we had people from church over, we often took the poor, deprived city kids on walks through the woods that surrounded our property. Before we left, however, we always warned them to stay behind us and stop if we stopped. We knew that they weren't aware of the potential dangers and that our parents and theirs were counting on us to keep them away from the snakes. 

I was taking a walk with my roommate one night about a year ago. We walked down the road to the bridge over the Santa Rosa Sound and then came back. Suddenly, he says "look out, snake!" and I jump because the thing is right between my feet. We then notice that it was dead -- and not poisonous anyway -- and of no danger. But it kind of got to me that I had almost stepped on a snake. ME! The North Florida backwoods boy who was watching for snakes since I was 7 or 8 years old. Wow, that's not good. That's almost as unbelievable as Dad hitting himself with an axe, but, then again, that has happened recently too. You see, I've been living in town for the last 18 years. I've gotten out of the habit of always watching every footfall. There just aren't snakes in town. Not with anything near the frequency there was back home. (We used to regularly kill 4-5 rattlesnakes a year and about as many of the other poisonous varieties.) So, I had gotten complacent. Now, if I was in the woods for some reason, taking a hike, or whatever, then I still have enough of the country boy in me to watch where I'm going, but in town I was careless. 

The big snake, Satan, sometimes catches us in the same way. When we are in a situation where the temptation level is high, we are on guard. When we think things are safe, we sometimes slip up. We don't lose our tempers and scream at the jerks at work or the jerks on the road, or the general jerks we meet in the world, but then we come home and our wife/husband or kids says something a little off and we lose it big time. At the beach, surrounded by people in skimpy bathing suits, we are careful to keep our libidos in check, then at church on Sunday one of our sisters leans over and her blouse hangs loose and before you know it we are considering things that are best left unpondered. Just like snakes can sometimes find their way into the biggest of cities, The Snake can attack us when we least expect it. We can never let our guard down too far, no matter how safe we feel. 

There's one thing I know, though. The streets of gold are snake free.

Lucas Ward

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            As odd as it may seem for a native Floridian, I am not a beach person.  Maybe that is why I made the mistake I did.

            I was away to a camp retreat for women, when it suddenly dawned on me en route that I had forgotten to pack a bath towel.  Rather than delay our progress shopping, we swung by a pharmacy at an exit where we had already stopped for gas, and I picked up the only type of towel they had available--a beach towel.

            The next night as I took my turn with the shower shared by thirty other women in our cabin, I discovered that beach towels do not work like ordinary towels.   I blotted my wet skin and lifted it to discover all the water droplets sitting on my arm exactly as they had before I used the towel.  I tried again, same result.  Finally I tried pushing off the water.  Some, but very little, rolled onto the floor.  Slightly encouraged I kept wiping.  Eventually I was--well, dry is not the word--but damp instead of soaked.  I am positive, though, that most of the drying was a matter of evaporation because I worked at it for nearly 15 minutes.

            The strangest things can bring me a moment of inspiration.  So when I got home, I did a quick study on the word “wipe.”  It is an interesting word, in both Testaments. 

            In the Old Testament the Hebrew word is machah.  Jehovah said to Moses, whoever has sinned against me, him will I blot out of my book, Ex 32:33.  “Blot out” is the same word often translated “wiped.”  Yet in Psalm 51, David uses it when he asks God to “blot out” his transgressions, and in Isaiah 25, God says in a Messianic prophecy that he will “wipe away” his people’s tears.

            In the New Testament, the word is exaleipho. Peter says in Acts 3:19 that we must repent if we expect our sins to be “blotted out.”  Jesus tells John in Rev 3:5 that he will not “blot out” the names of those who repent. Then we are told that when we reach our reward God will wipe away all tears from [our] eyes, Rev 21:4, all the same Greek word in exactly the same three uses as the Hebrew.

            God’s mercy is not like a beach towel.  He will blot out my sins completely.  On the other hand, if I do not live as I should, he will blot me out completely.  You cannot use “completely” in one phrase without using it in the other.  I cannot say, “Don’t blot me out completely. Don’t wipe my name out of your book,” while expecting God to wipe away my sins as completely as an expensive, absorbent towel wipes the water from my body because his Holy Spirit chose the same word for both actions in two separate languages. 

            Justice demands that something be blotted out.  God’s grace makes it possible that it not be the sinner, but merely his sins.  Amazing grace indeed.

And in this mountain will Jehovah of hosts make unto all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined. And he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering that covers all peoples, and the veil that is spread over all nations. He has swallowed up death for ever; and the Lord Jehovah will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the reproach of his people will he take away from off all the earth: for Jehovah has spoken it. And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, and he will save us: this is Jehovah; we have waited for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation. Isa 25:6-9.

Dene Ward

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The psalms are poetry.  By definition poetry is full of figurative language.  The psalms, therefore, must be full of figurative language.

Simile:  As the deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God, 42:1.

Metaphor:  The Lord is my rock, 18:2.  The Lord is my shepherd, 23:1.

Personification:  When the waters saw you they were afraid, 77:16.

Hyperbole:  God looks down on the children of men to see if there are any…who seek after God. They have all fallen away…there is none who does good, not even one, 53:2,3.

            We all use figurative language every day of our lives:  “He’ll give you the shirt off his back.”  “I need a new set of wheels.”  “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times.”  But for some reason we don’t get it when we find it in the scriptures.  We make up some weird gate in Jerusalem that archaeologists have never found, nor that the disciples had ever heard of, instead of understanding that Jesus was using hyperbole when he said, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven.”  We are not any better than our religious friends who want every item in the book of Revelation to be literal.  Maybe we should take the log out of our own eyes before we talk about them.

            We do the same thing with our hymns.  Granted there are lines in some hymns that we probably should not sing.  They teach religious dogma that is not found in the New Testament.  But far more often I have picky brethren who ignore the authority the book of Psalms gives us to use poetry, the hallmark of which is figurative language.  We follow the examples of our neighbors and make it all literal, then ban it from our assemblies. Hymns are poetry set to music just as the psalms were.  We should treat them as such.

            It would be helpful if we recognize that a figure of speech is meant to address only one specific point and stop trying to carry it beyond reason.  “A sower went forth to sow,” Jesus taught.  The point of the parable was how the seed grew based on the ground it fell on.  Who would be so silly as to ask what the bag in which the sower carried seed represented?  The same ones who wonder about camels and needles.  The same ones who want a literal thousand year kingdom on the earth instead of an eternal kingdom in Heaven.  The reason one group didn’t fall for the other fallacy was not their understanding of how to use figurative language, i.e., the same way we use it every day of lives.  The reason they stayed “sound” on one and not the other is they were indoctrinated otherwise.  It’s time we fixed that problem.

            Even denominational preachers understand the uses and abuses of figurative language when it comes down to brass tacks.  Just read Dungan’s Hermeneutics.  He has a great list of exactly how to interpret figurative language (Chapter 8).  If you follow it, you won’t fall for the strange gate OR the millennium.

            So let’s stop being ridiculous with our hymns, too.  We would not stand for anyone interpreting the things we say the way we interpret those poets. “Whatsoever you would that men should do unto you, do you also unto them.”

            And, more to the point, if we banned poetic language, we would miss a whole lot of wonderful teaching that reaches the heart in ways that straight prose never could.  Funny how God knew that so many thousands of years ago.

Jehovah, I have called upon you; make haste unto me:
Give ear unto my voice, when I call unto thee.
Let my prayer be set forth as incense before you;
The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.
Set a watch, O Jehovah, before my mouth;
Keep the door of my lips.
Incline not my heart to any evil thing,
To practice deeds of wickedness
with men that work iniquity:
And let me not eat of their dainties.
Let the righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness;
And let him reprove me, it shall be as oil upon the head;
Let not my head refuse it:
For even in their wickedness shall my prayer continue.
Their judges are thrown down by the sides of the rock;
And they shall hear my words; For they are sweet.
As when one plows and cleaves the earth,
Our bones are scattered at the mouth of Sheol.
For my eyes are unto you, O Jehovah the Lord:
In you do I take refuge; leave not my soul destitute.
Keep me from the snare which they have laid for me,
And from the gins of the workers of iniquity.
Let the wicked fall into their own nets,
While I escape.
Psalms 141:1-10

Dene Ward

            Keith had major surgery this past spring and because of his profound deafness I was with him in the hospital as caregiver 24/7.  We don’t do real sign language, but it is easier for me to communicate with him after 40 years of gradually adapting to his increasing disability.  People who are not used to it simply do not know how, and reading lips is not the easy fix to the problem that most think.

            Unfortunately, this hospital stay coincided with the garden harvest.  The beans, squash, and cucumbers had already begun coming in.  While we were away that week, those vegetables continued to grow.  When we got home, the beans were a lost cause--thick, tough, stringy and totally inedible.  The squash looked like a brass band had marched through, discarding their bright yellow tubas beneath the large green leaves, and the cucumbers as if a blimp had flown over in labor and dropped a litter.  If we expected the plants to continue to produce, I had to pull those huge gourds.  That first morning home I picked and dumped 8 buckets full.

            Gardens are taskmasters.  They don’t stop when it doesn’t suit your schedule.  They don’t wait till you have a free moment.  You must reap the harvest when it is ready or you lose it.  Every morning in late May and early June I go out to see what the day holds for me.  Will I be putting up beans or corn or tomatoes?  Will we have okra for supper or do I need to pickle it?  Are the jalapenos ready for this year’s salsa?  Are the bell peppers big enough to stuff or do I need to chop some for the freezer?  Do I need to make pesto before the basil completely takes over the herb bed? 

            And then you look for other problems.  Has blight struck the tomatoes?  Do the vining plants have a fungus?  Have the monarch butterflies laid their progeny on the parsley plants?  Have the cutworms attacked the peppers?  Has the ground developed a bacteria that is killing off half the garden almost overnight?  Do things just need watering?

            Childrearing can be the same way.  Children don’t stop growing until it suits your schedule. They don’t wait till you have a free moment.  You must reap the harvest when it is ready or you lose it.

            God expects you to carefully watch those small plants.  He expects you to check for problems before they kill the plants, and nip them in the bud.  It is perfectly normal for a toddler to be self-centered, but somewhere along the way you must teach him consideration for others.  Are you watching for ways to overcome his innate selfishness and teach him to share? Do you have a plan to teach him generosity?  It won’t happen by itself--you have to do it.

           Are you examining your children every day for those little diseases—stubbornness, a hot temper, whining, disrespect, or the other side of the “leaf”—inordinate shyness, self-deprecation, pessimism.  God expects you to look for problems from the beginning and try to fix them so your child will grow into a happy, well-adjusted adult, able to serve Him without the baggage of character flaws that should have been caught when he was very small.  Parents who ignore these things, thinking they will somehow go away when he grows up, are failing in their duties as gardeners of God’s young souls.  Those things will not disappear on their own any more than nematodes and mole crickets will.

            He also expects you to make clear-eyed judgments.  He may be your precious little cutie-pie, but you need to take off your tinted glasses and take a good look at him.  If you ignore his problems because you are too smitten to see them, you do not love your child as much as you claim.  Whoever spares the rod, hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him, Prov 13:24.  When I ignore the blight in my garden it’s because saving the garden isn’t important to me.

            Have you and your spouse ever just sat and watched your children play?  Have you ever given any thought at all to the things you might need to correct in them?  If your schedule is too busy for that, then you are too busy.  Period.  Your children will keep right on growing, and without your attentive care they may rot on the vine. 

            You are a steward of God’s garden.  The most important thing you can do today is take care of it.

Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table… Psalms 128:3.

Dene Ward

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I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. I got my first really nasty comment on the blog a few weeks ago.  I know, despite the obviously made up name, that this was not a Christian in any sense of the word.  A Christian would never have used the language he did.  I answered him politely via the email address I had access to, apologizing for his misunderstanding, inviting him to visit again, and have not heard word one back.

            I understand that this type of thing is called “trolling.”  Someone who has nothing better to do with his life goes combing through blogs and websites and does his best to create a controversy with a quick jab, then sits back to see “what he hath wrought.”  In this case nothing.  One reply by a reader showed his comment to be, not only vulgar, but completely ridiculous.  I did not say what he said I did, and no one else took it that way either.  And you know what?  Solomon’s proverb is shown to be true yet again, “There is nothing new under the sun.”

            The church had trollers to deal with in the first century.  Acts 13,14,15,17, and 21, Rom 16, Gal 1 and 2, several chapters in Timothy, and most of John’s epistles show their sinister attempts to cause controversy and divide the church.  They even followed Paul around from place to place, “poisoning their minds against the brothers” Acts 14:2; “subverting souls” 15:24; “agitating and stirring up” 17:13; “creating obstacles contrary to the doctrine” Rom 16:17; and “distorting the gospel” Gal 1:7.

            And we still have trollers today—people who go from house to house spreading dissatisfaction, who stand in the parking lots campaigning against the leadership of the church, who even have websites devoted to dispensing discontent with spurious arguments and unsubstantiated accusations, usually about their own pet concerns.  And who are the victims?  “The naïve,” Romans 16 tells us, usually those who are young and easily swayed by a handsome fellow who seems far more “with it” than the stodgy old fogies, who are usually viewed that way because they believe in stodgy old things like Biblical authority.

            And how does that passage describe these trollers?  They are “puffed up with conceit,” gathering to themselves a rah-rah club to satisfy their egos.  They “understand nothing” while at the same time claiming to be more enlightened than anyone else.  They have an “unhealthy craving for controversy,” unhealthy for those whose hearts are deceived, unhealthy for the body of Christ, and certainly unhealthy for their own souls.  If someone tries to get you involved, walk away.

           Trolling—no, it’s not new, and neither is this:  God hates it every bit as much now as He did two thousand years ago.

But avoid foolish controversies, genealogies, dissensions, and quarrels about the law, for they are unprofitable and worthless. As for a person who stirs up division, after warning him once and then twice, have nothing more to do with him, knowing that such a person is warped and sinful; he is self-condemned. Titus 3:9-11.

Dene Ward

            Americans used to admire “the strong, silent type”—not someone who was uncommunicative, but someone who endured the hardships of life without complaint, a man who always kept a sane head on his shoulders when things got rough.  I don’t know what has happened, but nowadays strength seems to be measured by how loudly a man can rant and rave about his lot in life and anyone he can blame for it.

            Our culture has made whining a world class skill.  No, we do not call it whining, but that’s what it is.  We whine about our jobs, about our neighbors, about our families, about our health, about the government—they give all our hard-earned money to other people, but let them cut one of our entitlement programs and we whine even louder about that.  We whine about rising costs, about having to wait in line, about our lifestyles, about the driver in the car in front of us.  We whine about the church, about the singing, about the length of sermons, about the preacher, about the elders, and about how hot or cold the building always is.  Sometimes I feel like getting out Nathan’s violin and accompanying the dirge.  At least it would be easier on the ears—and I don’t even know how to play!

            Look at Numbers 11, the classic example of complaining in the Old Testament.  Every place it says weep, weeping, or wept, substitute whine, whining, or whined.  That is probably a perfect word for what was going on.  Look at Moses’ reaction in v 15.  Please allow me to paraphrase: “If this is the way it’s going to be, then do me a favor, Lord, and kill me.  I can’t take it any more.”  Why anyone would think that whining is a measure of strength is beyond me. 

            Whining impugns God’s goodness.  Think of all the things God does for us and gives to us, and still we whine.  Blessed is the man whom you choose and cause to approach unto you, that he may dwell in your courts.   How can we complain when we have that blessing?  We shall be satisfied with the goodness of your house, your holy Temple, Psa 65:4.  Because your lovingkindness is better than life, I will praise you.  So I will bless you while I live; I will lift up my hands in your name.  My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise you with joyful lips, Psa 63:3-5.  A far cry from whining, isn’t it?

            I may think that I am above the effects of my culture, that I am not influenced by the rampant materialism that often motivates this whining.  All I need to do is make a list of things I consider “necessities” to find out otherwise.  All I need to do is keep track of all the times I complain during the day to become thoroughly ashamed.  God destroyed those who whined against Moses.  Why will he accept my murmuring?  The poorest among us is wealthier than 90% of the rest of the world.  Imagine that.  And far beyond that, life is good, if for no other reason than I have a Savior.  In fact, do I need any other reason?

But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, blessed are you; and fear not their fear, neither be troubled, but sanctify in your hearts Christ as Lord…1 Peter 3:14,15

Neither murmur as some of them murmured and perished by the Destroyer, 1 Cor 10:10

Dene Ward

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I went out to water my flowers early one morning, grabbed up the two gallon watering can and headed for the spigot.  The temperature had already risen to the upper 70s, and the humidity had beaten that number by at least twenty.  It dripped off the live oaks, bonking on the metal carport roof as loud as pebbles would have, but I knew that soon the plants would fold their leaves against the heat in a bid to keep as much moisture in them as possible.  A morning drink was a necessity for them to survive the coming afternoon.

            I picked up the filled can and began the long trudge to the flower bed.  What was that?  Water was running down the leg that bumped the can as I walked, so I lifted the can and examined it.  A steady stream of water poured out a tiny hole not quite halfway up its side.

            After a moment’s thought, I picked up the pace and made it to the bed in time to pour most of the water on the flowers.  Ordinarily after watering, I keep a full can next to the bed to fill the small bird bath next to it as needed, but that can would no longer hold even half its normal capacity.  So after the watering, I returned to the well tank and filled it only halfway and sat it by the bath.  I would have to fill it twice as often now, but at least I could get a most of a gallon out of it.  Better than nothing.

             We are a lot like that watering can.  We should be filled to the capacity that God intended, but too often we don’t hold even half of it.  Paul tells us we each receive a different gift according to the grace of God, Rom 12:6; Peter tells us to use that gift as a good steward of God’s grace, 1 Pet 4:10.  Holes in the can mean we are not using those gifts as God designed, squandering His grace in the process. 

            Sometimes we deny the grace.  “I can’t do that,” we say, when God has clearly put an opportunity in front of us.  Have you ever given someone a gift and had them tell you that you didn’t?  Of course not.  Everyone knows that the giver knows what he gave, yet here we are being so ridiculous as to tell God He most certainly did not give us any gifts..  God does not put opportunities in front of us that He has not given us the ability to handle.  More than anyone else—even more that we ourselves—He knows what we can and cannot do.  Denying the His grace is simply disobedience.

            Sometimes we cheat the grace.  “I’m too busy,” we tell people when something comes up.  Never mind that the opportunity is squarely within my wheelhouse—if I don’t want to do it, being busy is the excuse of the day.  In fact, sometimes we make ourselves busy with things we prefer in order to avoid more difficult spiritual obligations.  It’s easier to work late one night than go visit a weak brother.  It’s more fun to work out with a peer (“keeping my temple healthy”) than learn how to study with an older Christian who wants to share his hard-earned knowledge.  Shopping must be done, but it is certainly less trouble—and a lot quicker--to go shopping alone than to take an older person who is no longer able to get out on her own.  And our busy-ness has kept us from filling ourselves to capacity.

            Sometimes we do our best to spoil the grace by poking the hole in ourselves.  God has a purpose for each one of us.  I can sabotage those plans by my own selfish choices in life.  Worldliness and materialism can diminish my capacity for the spiritual.  Bad habits can ruin a reputation and make me less effective.  Bad decisions can make me unfit for God’s original plan for me.  Even if I turn myself around and repent, I may never again have the same impact I would have if I had made better choices earlier in life.  I may very well have drilled a hole in the can so that it will only hold half or less what God intended it to hold.

            Take a good look at your watering can this morning.  God knows better than you how much it can hold.  Don’t deny the grace; don’t squander the opportunities.  Don’t drill a hole where one doesn’t belong.  Capacity is His business, not yours.  It matters not whether it’s half full or half empty.  What He wants is an overflowing can.

Now in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and silver but also of wood and clay, some for honorable use, some for dishonorable. Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from what is dishonorable, he will be a vessel for honorable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work, 2 Timothy 2:20-21.

Dene Ward

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            "Resolved, That the flag of the United States be made of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation."  It has changed now and again from that day over two centuries ago, but the American flag still means to us what it did then—a symbol of a new nation, no longer a colony belonging to a mad king.

            The thirteen red and white stripes represent the original thirteen colonies.  The fifty stars represent the fifty states in the union.  Even the colors are symbolic.  Red symbolizes hardiness and valor.  White symbolizes purity and innocence.  Blue symbolizes vigilance, perseverance, and justice.

            The symbolism of flags and banners is nearly as old as man himself.  In Num 2:2 we see that every tribe of Israel had a banner, a flag, which flew over their encampment.  Like the American flag, the images on the flags were symbolic.  Unfortunately we do not have a Biblical record of those symbols.  The best we can do are various rabbinic lists, and some of them do make sense.  The image on Judah’s banner, for instance, was supposedly a lion, taken from Jacob’s description of Judah in Gen 49:9 as a “lion’s whelp.”  Benjamin’s flag pictured a wolf, we are told, based on his description as a “scavenging wolf” in 49:27.   The odd thing to me is that some of these symbols are anything but complimentary.  Dan’s symbol, for example, is a snake:  Dan shall be a serpent in the way, An adder in the path, That bites the horse's heels, So that his rider falls backward.  49:17.

            And so I found myself wondering what if God ordered a flag act, requiring us to fly a banner outside every meetinghouse?  What would be on them?  What would represent our “tribe” of God’s people?

            I wonder if we could somehow depict the city of Gibeah (Judg 19) on every flag outside an unwelcoming group of brethren, people who ignored the ones who weren’t dressed well or who showed up in leather, covered in tattoos?  Maybe we could put a whitewashed sepulcher on the flags of those who sit in the pews on Sunday but live like the Devil the rest of the week.  Perhaps phylacteries would be the picture on the flag of those congregations who could quote verse after verse, but who never served their neighbors or each other.  Maybe we could put a big puff adder on the flag of those who were “conceited and puffed up” with “an unhealthy craving for controversy,” 1 Tim 6:4.  And don’t forget one with a rendition of Judas kissing Jesus for those congregations who betray God by ignoring His authority in all they do.

            It would certainly be handy wouldn’t it, far better than those “directories.”   Then we could look for flags showing foot washing—truly a church of servants.  We could look for flags depicting an open Bible for those known for their love of the Truth and spreading it.  We could even look for embroidered hearts denoting love and sincerity. 

            I am sure you are sitting there right now trying to decide what should be on your congregation’s flag.  Here is something even more important for you to consider for the rest of the day:  what would God put on your own personal flag, the one flying right outside your home?

You have given a banner to them that fear you, That it may be displayed because of the truth. Psalms 60:4.

Dene Ward

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