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Red Door of Fellowship: site of the meeting of the saints.
(Click all photos to enlarge.) |
When you say you’re going to Las Vegas,
no one asks you why. Everyone knows why you’re going: to pamper the flesh.
You’re going in order to be entertained, to overeat (and to overheat), to gamble, to drink, to
see what Cher is wearing, to sow some wild oats and reap
some wild oatmeal. If someone were to ask you why you are going to Vegas, the answer would not be, “I am going to Vegas for a Bible study.” Are you kidding me? Who
the hell goes to Las Vegas
for a Bible study?
Me. I do. I go to Las Vegas
for a Bible study. I am two miles off the The Strip, and I don’t care.
Neither does anyone else here. Right now, at this moment, it is the greatest
thing in the world to be in Las Vegas
talking about the evangel of Paul with people who are waiting to be snatched up
together with Christ and be with Him forevermore. This ain’t no Mirage. Nothing
could be more perfect.
The Bible study yesterday was one of the best. Starting at 9:30 a.m., people just kept coming in the door.
By 10:15, we had sixteen people in
the living room.
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Joe knows bacon.
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| Joe and Melinda in love. |
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| Ivy awaits company. |
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Rich Kavatch arrives. He is the guy with the radio show
who interviewed me twice last May for The First Idiot in Heaven
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| Ben drove up all the way from Orange County, California. |
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| Christina and Megan |
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| Sophia, Melinda, Eddie, and Tyler |
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| Bryan is a Los Angeles Lakers fan. |
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| Grace and Victor |
The study was over by 9:30—p.m.
That’s right, a twelve-hour Scripture-fest, with occasional breaks for
delicious food (thank you, Melinda and Sophia) and—in Joe’s case—a giant cigar
enjoyed on the patio.
The main living room meeting went for three hours. No one
wanted to leave. Yesterday reminded me again of how body of Christ members are
so much like family. You meet these people for the first time, and you hug them
like long-lost kin. The conversation starts right away; you are all of the same
mind. The same mind directs you, the mind of Christ. You realize that every one
of these people, including yourself, has walked down winding roads and heartbreaking
times, to bring them here. They were brought here, all of them, by joys, trials,
tears—and a sure yearning for truth. Everyone has a story, written in their
eyes, faces, hugs, and the way they look at you when you share with them a new
facet of the grace of God.
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| The patio. |
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| Joe enjoys a smoke. |
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| Rear view of Joe enjoying a smoke. |
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| Ben, Zender, Randy, and Victor. |
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Rich digs the fellowship, backdropped by the Gulf of Mexico.
Everyone thinks he looks like Dustin Hoffman. |
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| Ben and me. |
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| Eddie and Martin Zender. |
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| Zender schmoozes with Melinda and her grandson Logan. |
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| Eddie schmoozes with Melinda; Melinda is schmoozable. |
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| Hannah and Matthew look after their nephew Micah. |
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| Hannah is cute in the kitchen. |
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| Matthew supervises cookie operations. |
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| Taya can't wait for everyone to leave. |
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| Ben enjoys a coffee before driving back to L.A. |
Speaking for myself, I love the moments of ultra-awareness,
realizing I am at the right place, at the right time, with the right people. Of
course, this is always the case in the great scheme of God, but one is not
always ultra-aware of it. We must admit there are those moments in life when
everything seems wrong, feels wrong, looks wrong. These are those times when the
psyche needs a pep talk that God is in control, and is operating all in accord
with the counsel of His will (Ephesians 1:11).
Yesterday was not one of those times.
I thank the Almighty God that there are other times, like
yesterday, when He is so gracious and merciful that He sets you down into a sweet
spot when everything gels and grooves, when you know why you have suffered upon
your path—to bring you to this spot in place and in time. There are times over
the past 19 years when I have despaired of this calling to teach. Yesterday, I
could not imagine doing anything else.
Thank you, God, for fitting me to be a vessel of Your truth
for Your people’s lives, to bless them and bring them closer to You. Thank you for
the confirmation that I am on the right path, doing the right thing. Thank you
for Your chosen ones. Thank you for this season of love, acceptance, smiles,
hugs, tears of joy, warm encouraging words, and conviction of truth and purpose.
* * *
Oh, boy, I slept in until 3:30
this morning. Went to bed at 10:30,
making another day of five hours sleep. I have got to get to bed earlier
tonight, but it’s hard to break away from the fellowship. My thinking is: I’m
not here to sleep. However, I’ve got to stay healthy and keep the brain
in gear. However, I can’t get enough of this. Good thing, because we’ve
another full day of it today: the gang is coming back at 10 for another go.
After that, there is a two-hour fellowship Monday night. Rumor has it (thank you, Adele), some of us are heading to The Strip on Tuesday. I want to make a
video to deliver to you this weekend, but we will see what time and energy
allows. The script ideas being bandied about the table last night were
entertaining, to say the least. (Only a few of them were legally possible.)
Getting up a half-hour later didn’t change the routine this
morning. I didn’t even try to go back to sleep, making it down here to my kitchen
counter and computer, once again, at 4:15. I am
guarding my water glass this time, which Taya (the name of the
formerly-dehydrated cat, delivered as promised) is not too happy about. She
cuddles me anyway; what a sweet kitty.
Yesterday, I spoke on the two gospels, giving a brief
overview of Israel’s
history and working my way up and through Paul. Today, I’ll be taking a
broader look at the history of the universe, and the nature of God. Monday
night, I want to delve into the specifics of Paul’s gospel.
The conversations at the kitchen table and out on the patio
have run the gamut.
On Thursday, three of us fly to Sacramento.
It turns out that two or three other people may be driving there as well. The show hits
the road!
Donald Trump is really missing out on these spiritual times,
the poor guy. So is Shania Twain. I saw Trump’s epic tower on the way in here,
and Shania’s slinky, sassy self gracing football-sized billboards and placards
atop taxi cabs. There is nothing wrong with being rich, famous, void of
hairstyling, or having an amazing waist-hip ratio (I’m talking about Shania,
Mr. Trump, not you; your waist-hip ratio is pathetic.) But there is everything
right with forsaking that which is behind (this world and its treasures), and
stretching ahead for the prize of the high calling above in Christ Jesus.
They have yet to invent a slot machine here that can deliver
that.
© 2012 by Martin Zender
