First it was a Nigerian widow who wanted to contribute $43,000,000.00 to our church.   Then a friend who was stranded in France without money or passport.   Next, the IRS called in from Puerto Rico to tell me that criminal proceedings were beginning in response to back taxes.   Rachel and Veronica kept my phone hot inquiring about my lapsed car warranty and unpaid student loans – neither of which I ever had.   And now representatives of Norton Security with atrocious spelling and even more unbelievable names are emailing me from clearly fraudulent domains to thank me for my $827 renewal of virus protection software I haven’t used since Win95.  

Does anyone really fall for this?  After all my spam filters have gotten so good that I never see most of this until my monthly spam purge.  Even my smart phone is smart enough to change Rachel and Veronica’s names to “Spam Risk” or “Telemarketer.” And yet, they are unmoved.  Confidence men or ‘conmen’ in the vernacular, continue with courage undaunted.  Someone will always fall for their spiel.   If not you, then the next mark.   It is a numbers game fueled by the certainty that some people never learn.   Or as P. T. Barnum was reputed to have said, “there’s a sucker born every minute.”

Pop psychologist Maria Konnikova examined this remarkable idea in her 2016 book, The Confidence Game: Why We Fall for It…Every Time.   She asks and attempts to answer age-old questions.

While cheats and swindlers may be a dime a dozen, true conmen—the Bernie Madoffs, the Jim Bakkers, the Lance Armstrongs—are elegant, outsized personalities, artists of persuasion and exploiters of trust. How do they do it? Why are they successful? And what keeps us falling for it, over and over again?

In her attempt to answer these questions, Konnikova brings readers into the world of the con, examining the relationship between artist and victim. The Confidence Game asks not only why we believe con artists, but also examines the very act of believing and how our sense of truth can be manipulated by those around us.  No matter what you think of her conclusions, she puts her finger on difficulty of learning our lessons from a bad experience.  We like to say, “fool me once shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” But how careful are we really to learn our lesson?  

We know Santayana’s maxim that “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”  We see this play out every day.   But do we learn our lessons?   And while this is important in regard to our relational, vocational, financial, and parental choices, it is of eternal importance in regard to our faith.   Faith grows as we exercise it.  And that exercise, not unlike physical exercise often comes in painful and trying circumstances.  The agency of sanctification is always refinement in the crucible of tribulation, suffering, need, or uncertainty. 

Faith grows when we lean into it, putting our weight upon the object of our faith.  The biblical word ‘faith’ carries with it the idea of standing on something to see that it will hold up and not give way.  The temporal things of this world and indeed your own skill, personality, talents, or circumstances cannot bear the weight of adversity in this life – but God can.  The Bible describes him as one who holds all things together, who carries us, who carries our sorrows and afflictions, and upon whom we can cast our cares.   He alone is the trustworthy object of our faith.   But how well have we learned this lesson?

Moses struggled to learn this.   His expectations of how God would work contradicted what God had revealed to him.   He did what he was asked.  He went to Pharaoh but his actions only made life more bitter for the Hebrew people.   Pharaoh’s heart grew harder with every exchange.  And his resolve grew greater with every refusal.   What kind of deliverance was this?  Moses was disappointed with his circumstance, himself, and most of all with God.  

But Moses was still placing his faith in himself and not in God’s promises and God’s power.   At the end of Exodus 6, God tells Moses to return to Pharaoh.  Moses complains, “what’s the use, I am a man of faltering speech.” But he goes anyway.   This time, however, he is careful to do exactly what God told him – no going off script, making apologies for God, or trying to smooth out what God said to make it more acceptable the unbelieving king.  

Moses learned a lesson.   Our faith in not in our faith, but in the object of our faith – God’s promises and power.   Join us this Lord’s Day as we examine Exodus 6:28-7:13 and consider some of the lessons learned by Moses about God’s promises and power and character – lessons we need to learn.

We meet on the square in Pottsville, right next to historic Potts’ Inn at 10:30 am for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join us on Facebook Live @PottsvilleARP or YouTube. 

I admit it.  I was afraid of the prospect of changing diapers.  When my first child was born, I rushed to change that first diaper. I had to conquer my fear from the get-go.  But I had not done my homework.  I was not prepared for meconium. It was more than I had bargained for – much more.   

But meconium was not the most shocking aspect of becoming a father.  Most unexpected was the realization that my children would look at me, the way I had looked at my own father.  I never for an instant believed he did not know how to handle any and every situation. He always had a plan, seemed to have things under control – except, that is, when he attempted to fix household appliances.

But as a new dad, I was painfully aware that I did not know how to handle any and every situation.  I did not always have a plan, nor did I have things under control.   As a child my confidence in my father made the uncertain certain and made the impossible possible.  He taught me to plan, to write, to teach.  He taught me the importance of serving others, and in particular, of serving Christ. 

He had his faults to be sure, but I am thankful to be my father’s son.  His shoes were very big.  I sat with him as he drew his last breath in this life.  I was surprised by an overwhelming sense of being untethered as he left us.  Though I was almost fifty years old with seven children of my own, the thought of a world without my father seemed unexpectedly daunting.

Our fathers define us.  Either by their place in our lives, or by their absence.  Some infused us with strength and confidence, while others saddled us with weakness and insecurity.   In one way or another we are all shaped by fatherhood.  Dads, how are you shaping your family? What legacy will you leave? And what mark will your family make upon the world as it unfolds into history?   Genealogy, the study of our generations, is often more about where our family is going than where it started.  Where is your family going? What will be its legacy?

Genealogies in the Bible often seem quite out of place, interrupting great stories just as they reach a high point.   They can be tedious.  And often they are the bane of our daily Bible reading plan.   But they are no less “breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.” (2 Timothy 3:16) 

Tucked in among unpronounceable Hebrew names and begats are some very important theological and practical truths.   God is a God of real people and real history.   God works through families and generations.   God sees, knows, hears, and directs parents, spouses, children, and outsiders toward his grace through their relationships.   No one falls through the cracks.  No one is unknown or unnoticed.   And no one is found among ancestors or descendants who ‘has it all together.’  Every generation needs a savior and looks to Christ.

As Moses prepares to confront Pharaoh and initiate the most awesome display of spiritual power the ancient world had seen in the plagues, the Holy Spirit presses the pause button. He gives us a genealogy and reminds us of the importance of being faithful men and women, boys and girls, following Christ and leaving a legacy of following Christ.   Join us this week as we examine Exodus 6:14-30 and consider the formative power of the ‘Faith of Our Fathers.’

We meet on the square in Pottsville, right next to historic Potts’ Inn at 10:30 am for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join us on Facebook Live @PottsvilleARP or YouTube. 

He was a young man on the edge.   He knew in his heart, his mind, his will he needed to take the next step.  A step either glorious or tragic.  Yet he was unable to move, paralyzed with fear.  Absolutely frozen in place.  His whole body shaking.   Tears streaming down his face.  Turmoil raging within him.   It was a rite of passage.  Others had done it.  He must do it.   But no rationale, no counting to 3, no sibling rivalry or encouragement loosed the grip of fear.   The gravity of fear was an irresistible force.  The heights were dizzying and the depths unfathomable.    

And nothing below would hold him up once he had jumped.  Nothing would keep him from sinking into the abyss.  Nothing that is except the grasp of his father.   His father’s presence, strength, and assurance was the only thing that made sense.  And ultimately the thing to which he leapt. “‘You can do it.  I am here.  I will catch you.  I will not let you sink.  Look at me.  Jump to me.”  

Everyone swimmer knows this fear.  It is a childish but powerful fear.  Few actually learn to swim by being thrown in.   Most of us can swim because there was someone there to catch us.   Someone we trusted more than we feared the depths.  Who loosed the grip of fear that paralyzed us?  What fear paralyzes you?  Keeps you stuck in place, unable to step out, to move forward?  

The Apostle Paul wrote, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.”  When we were young it was the fear of jumping into the pool, or perhaps what waited noiselessly under our beds at night.   Then we grew up.  We put away childish fears.  But new ones took their place.  

Fear of change, and of not changing.  Fear of not being accepted, or not measuring up.   Of not being recognized or valued.  Fear of financial uncertainty.   Fear of losing our edge, our abilities, our independence.    The fear of fading away unremembered.  Fear of not being known, loved, cared for?  Fear of prolonged sickness, suffering, and yes, death.  And the fear that everything in the world that we believe secure will become insecure – our world turned upside down. 

What fear paralyzes you?  Keeps you stuck in place, unable to step out, to move forward in following Christ?   The imperative “Fear Not!” is common in scripture.   But how can we obey it?  After all fear is a response to circumstances we cannot control.   Our finitude creates anxiety.   We are not in control.  We never were.   But what God commands, He provides.   The remedy for fear is faith in the one who is in control.    

Jesus’ disciples were fearful men.   They feared Pharisees.  They feared insignificance.  They feared service.  Peter feared servant girls and “men from James.”  Thomas feared false hope.  They all feared the raging sea.  And sometimes they feared Jesus.  Yet God gave them a faith that turned the world upside down.  Their persecutors observed that “being with Jesus” made them bold. 

As Jesus prepared to return to the Father, He prepared his followers to face fears and carry the gospel to the ends of the earth.   Leaving the Temple on the Tuesday before his crucifixion, Jesus declares “their house desolate.”     The temple was the most secure thing in their world.   Its destruction would be like the end of the world.   Like men of Jeremiah’s day, the men of Jesus’ day believed the Temple inviolable.  It was a wonder of the ancient world.  Tacitus wrote that it was “immensely opulent.”   Its stones weighted up to a hundred tons.  It was a marvel of engineering.  Yet Jesus declares, “not one stone will be left on another.” 

The Jewish leaders, the crowd, and the disciples were astonished.  Such was inconceivable.  And in turn asked him to explain.  “When will these things be?  What signs will we see?”   And so, in Luke 21:5-19, Jesus responds.  But he does not answer what they asked, but what they should have asked.  Questions we should ask?  Not when? Or what? But how?  How can the gospel advance in the face of such opposition?  How can we live by faith and not fear? 

This passage, so filled with catastrophe, is actually one of assurance and victory.   Join us as we examine Luke 21:5-19 and consider how God equips us to advance the gospel through tremendous assurance.

We meet on the square in Pottsville, right next to historic Potts’ Inn at 10:30 am for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join us on Facebook Live @PottsvilleARP or YouTube. 

You can’t take them anywhere.   Friends, family, coworkers, acquaintances whose presence always creates drama.  Then trauma.   Nothing is satisfactory.  And everyone must know it.  The food is too hot, cold, slow, soggy, poorly plated.  The seats are too crowded, in the sun, in the shade, far away, too close.   The route is too twisty, trafficked, poorly designed.   Whatever is, is not acceptable.   They raise a stink about anything and everything.   And invite contempt to our merry parties, family gatherings, and joyful assembles.

‘Raising a stink’ is an apt phrase. To ‘raise a stink’ means to be vocal in one’s displeasure or to make a scene about something; to complain or object very angrily. Nit-pickiness, implacability, malcontentedness is like a bad smell.  It offends and repels. It sickens and induces strong reactions.   It is the smell of death – the death of friendships, relationships, fellowships.  

‘Raising a stink’ is an ancient idiom.  Before refrigeration smells were a matter of life or death.  By its smell, food was tested before it was tasted.   And people were identified by their savour, whether sweet or malodorous, as much as their appearance. We see this in the stories of the Bible.  

After the flood, Noah offered a burned sacrifice of thanksgiving to the Lord and we read, “and when the Lord smelled the pleasing aroma, the Lord said in his heart, ‘I will never again curse the ground because of man.’”  Isaac commented that the Esau smelled like “a field which the Lord has blessed.” And in Revelation 8, saints prayers are compared to sweet incense rising to the Lord.   The scent of some is sweet.  But the scent of others raises a stink.  

Genesis 22:1 records that God ‘tested’ Abraham.  The word translated ‘tested’ comes from an ancient word which means to examine the integrity of meat by smelling it.  In Genesis 34, after Jacob’s sons murder the men of Shechem, Jacob says, “you have brought trouble on me by making me stink to the inhabitants of the land.”  And in Exodus 5:21, the people complain against Moses after his failed interview with Pharaoh. 

“The Lord look on you and judge, because you have made us stink in the sight of Pharaoh and his servants, and have put a sword in their hand to kill us.”

Exodus 5:21

In Exodus 4, Moses and Aaron met with the elders.   Quickly and completely, God’s Word produced faith in an unbelievable promise.  Moses had worried no one would believe him.  But without controversy all the elders and all the people believed God’s Word and responded.   Now it was Pharaoh’s turn.  But Pharaoh’s heart was hardened.  He not only refused Moses’ demands, but made the peoples’ lives more bitter.   And they complained to Moses. He had raised a stink.  

It is true that God’s Word always raises a stink with unbelievers.  The Bible is not a matter of indifference.  It makes demands.  It reveals what we are.  And what we are not.   The hubris of unbelief cannot tolerate God’s Word.  It always raises a stink.   Paul describes this well in the New Testament.

For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life.

2 Corinthians 2:15-16

The gospel is always pungent.   For some a pleasing aroma.  To others it raises a stink.  The gospel raised a stink with Pharaoh.  And it raises a stink with unbelievers in your life.  Moses and the people complained against God because of Pharaoh’s reaction.   What is your response when the gospel raises a stink?   Will you complain that God’s promises have failed?  Will you blame him for exposing you to persecution?   Will you value peace with lost men more than their peace with God? 

The gospel raises a stink.  But Moses raised a stink as well.   Pharaoh’s is not the only unbelief in this passage.   When the gospel did not act how and when Moses thought it should, he raised a stink.   How do you handle disappointment when the Lord does not act as you expect?  When His promises seem out of reach?   When following Christ appears to makes life worse, not better.   Exodus has much to say about disappointment.   Join us this Lord’s Day as we examine Exodus 5:1-23 and consider how we respond to disappointment.

We meet on the square in Pottsville, right next to historic Potts’ Inn at 10:30 am for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join us on Facebook Live @PottsvilleARP or YouTube.