Pickle Heaven Press-James R. Johnson

something to help you laugh and think about life with Christ

breaking camp — June 24, 2020

breaking camp

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It is summer and a great time to go camping, unless you live in Texas, where the heat can approach the outer limits of hell. 

Summer camping elsewhere is usually fun.  My wife and I just returned from an outing, where a fresh cool breeze wafted through our camper each night.  We had lots of relaxing time with the Lord and each other.  (that’s what happens when you leave the grandkids behind) 

Of course, some trips are not so relaxing.  My extended family did a big outing once.   Pretty memorable.  It started with a rampage of ground hornets who had been aggravated by a lawnmower.  My grandson sustained several stings. 

Later that evening my granddaughter spied a night intruder.  In a trembly voice she cried, “a snake!”   My son ground the baby copperhead to pieces.  But nature got him back the next day, when a squirrel in a tree relieved himself on my boy’s head.   The next morning, there was a loud ominous crack in a tree which dropped a massive limb barely behind us.

Then there were the honeybees that sought out my sweet daughter, and there was the earsplitting industrial hum that came from the power plant across the lake.  Actually, it was better for sleeping than white noise.  All that in one outing.  Fun!

I love to camp but I must admit that my favorite part is going home.  Roughing it is great for a time – a short time.  A human burrito sleeping bag is OK for a night and a charred hot dog is good once a year.  But there is nothing like packing up and going home.  

I suspect that is why Paul used a camping word to capture the way we go to heaven.  In Philippians 1 we find him conflicted wanting to continue his work on earth while longing for the comforts of his heavenly home. 

He wrote, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. 22 Now if I am to go on living in the body, this will mean productive work for me, yet I don’t know which I prefer: 23 I feel torn between the two, because I have a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far, 24 but it is more vital for your sake that I remain in the body.”  NET Bible ®

Did he really say that – “dying is gain?”   

He believed that dying is a departure from this life and a move on to heaven.  The word depart (verse 23) was actually a camping term in Paul’s day.  It was used to describe an army that was breaking down their tents and moving out. 

In 2 Corinthians 5:1-5 Paul reminds us that our bodies are like tents – designed for a temporary stay – flimsy, tattered, and insufficient for the long haul.   Paul was ready to pack up his ratty tent and trade it in for the eternal home that Jesus had prepared for him.  (John 14:1-3)

The word depart was exceptionally colorful. Not only was it used of camping, it was also a nautical word descriptive of a ship that was being loosed from her moorings.  

In a similar way, we are moored to the pier of a place that is not our home.  It feels somewhat secure to be tied here, but the longer we remain, the longer we postpone the joys of being where we really belong. Death is the process of casting off the restraining ropes and sailing home.

Depart was also a legal term used to describe the release of someone from prison.  I think of some of the folks I care for as hospice chaplain.  Their health has declined and has imprisoned them in bodies to where they can’t even escape their bed.  For them death, becomes a benevolent liberator.

The word was also used with livestock.  It described the process of unyoking oxen.  They say a team of 2 oxen can pull about 12,000-13,000 pounds of weight.  That’s incredible. 

After a hard days work, I bet those beasts were relieved to have that heavy yoke removed.  Death does the same for us.  It relieves us of the backbreaking responsibilities of this life. 

All of us will face the prospect of death eventually.  When we belong to Christ, death can be regarded as more of a friend than a foe. 

It enables us to trade in our temporal tent for an eternal home.  It loosens the ropes that bind us to the dock of this life.  It releases us from the circumstances that imprison us and it relieves us of our burdensome yoke to give us rest. 

Paul makes a great argument for breaking camp.  I am looking forward to it.

Father may You Have Your Way — June 20, 2020

Father may You Have Your Way

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This is a song that has captured the intent of our hearts and still does. Written by Jim Johnson, sung by Jim and Sharie Johnson

on the field — June 17, 2020

on the field

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As we approach Father’s Day, I want to share a dad story with you.  My dad was a great athlete – super gifted.   He has bowled 300 and has played ping pong with the top ranked players in the world, but his love was football.

He played first string throughout his high school years and made the elite all-star team   He turned down scholarships to a couple of serious football schools because his single mom needed him at home.  Athletic skill and character – an uncommon mix today.

Anyway, I wanted to be just like dad, and I was, except that I had the athletic skill of fencepost.   Nevertheless, I took to the gridiron in 6th grade.  Dad was there for every game and most practices.  He was nuts about football.

He even volunteered himself to be the timekeeper for our games.   As timekeeper, he would stand 8 paces or so behind the offensive huddle and watch the watch.

Unfortunately, he was a chain smoker of cigars – King Edward – the cheapest money could buy.  He lit up and continued throughout each game.  The smoke was heavy and noxious.  There were times when the huddled were befuddled by cloud of smoke.  Oh, how we would gasp and cough.

On a good day, he could create a smokescreen that enveloped the quarterback and hid him from the defense.  The ref wanted to throw a flag, but it wasn’t against the rules

Honestly, there were times I was more than embarrassed.

But there was an upside to his service as a timekeeper.  For one thing, he wasn’t able to yell from the sidelines.  “Hey ref, my grandmother could have seen that guy was clipping!”

And then there was this:  When I picked myself up from the bottom of a dogpile and began to limp back to the huddle – the first thing I would see was my dad.

It was sort of surreal – there he was, nearby, in the midst of the haze.  When I did well – I saw him smile.  When I missed a block there would be an inspiring tilt to his head.  When I was called for off-sides, he would cast an understanding glance!  It was comforting to have him right there. 

I was amused to discover that God handled His duties much as my dad did.

Moses led Israel out of Egypt and into the wilderness, and they were terrified of what was behind and before them.  They needed some powerful reassurance.

So, God had them build a portable place of worship.  In this place, God promised to manifest His presence.   He wanted His people to know that He was nearby – to hear His words and sense His response to them.  He hoped to be more than a concept to His people.

They created the tabernacle and within its tent sat the Ark of the Covenant.  It was at that gilded box that God made His presence known.

And when the people marched to the promised land, the ark would precede them.  When they stopped and camped, the ark would be centered among them.  The Lord was always within eyeshot of every one of His people – near the huddle.

And would you believe it, He chose to present Himself as being surrounded by a smoke-like cloud.  But there was no King Edward for this King.  The cloud that signaled the presence of God was glorious.  (and free of tar and nicotine)

The presence of my dad on the field was indescribably comforting.   But I find even greater comfort knowing that my Lord still stands on the field of life with me just as He did in the wilderness.  He promises, “I am with you always.”  – Matthew 28:20 NETBible ®

And He comes with no warning from the Surgeon General.

Does life have you under a dogpile at the moment?  Look up.  He is there on the field with you.

firewood folly — June 10, 2020

firewood folly

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I have a grandson who is a budding entrepreneur.  His daddy brought down a tree in the front yard and then reduced the trunk to firewood.   

The boy seized the opportunity.  He took a cardboard box and made himself a sandwich sign.  He draped it over his shoulders and paraded around the neighborhood hoping to retail some of his fireplace fuel.  The sign said, “FRESH FIREWOOD.” 

I so laughed when my daughter sent me a picture of him with his sign. 

“Fresh” is a word that you might use to sell strawberries, green beans or baked goods – but not firewood. 

Fresh firewood has a 30% water content.  Have you ever tried to light a campfire made of fresh firewood?  You’ll waste a box of matches and scorch a few fingers trying.  If you should coax a tiny flame, you won’t maintain it for long.

The green wood needs to be seasoned for 6 months to get to the 20% level.  It’ll burn then.  He might have bumped up his sales if the sign had read, “stale firewood.”

As it was, he failed to make his first sale.

That’s kind of the way it is these days – fresh and new are usually regarded as being better.  Often, they are, but rarely when it comes to wisdom

Knowledge also needs to be seasoned.  Time and experience enable a person to take what they know and fine tune its application. 

A teacher fresh out of college may be knowledgeable, but it will take time before she becomes a wise teacher.

Unless I want help with my iPhone, I seek advice from an older person.  (This is a challenge for me since I am now old)  I want to hear advice from someone who has walked in my shoes and can look back with 20/20 vision to help me see what still lies ahead.

Suppose a young couple decides to get premarital counseling before they say, “I do.”   Who best to guide them? 

There is the young associate pastor who has been married for 3 years, but the senior pastor is also an option.  He and his wife have been happily married for 33 years and have raised 2 children.

The couple might be more at ease with the younger pastor, but they would receive the maximum wisdom dose from the senior.  The younger could say to them, “This is what my wife and I are learning – and this is how it seems to be working out.” 

The senior can say, “This is what we have experienced, and this is what we have learned from a host of other couples over the years – and this is how it works out.

He can bring to the table both the successes and mistakes that were made along the way. 

Or how about your child who lies with the greatest of ease.  You need some help.  Should you get it by surveying your Facebook peers OR invite an older wiser mother over for coffee and talk to her?

Of course, everyone has experience from which we can learn, but the experience span of a young person is dwarfed by that of an older person.

King Rehoboam needed advice.  His subjects complained about the burden that his father had imposed on them.  He consulted with his elder counselors.  They encouraged him to be a servant to his people and reduce the strain.  They would love him for it and serve him forever. 

But then the king summoned his young peers and asked them for their input.  They told him to turn up the heat and demand more of his people. (1 Kings 12) 

He heeded his youngers.  His harsh response triggered 10 of the 12 tribes of Israel to secede and a bloody civil war to follow and he spent the rest of his miserable life saying, “What was I thinking?”

As you make your way, go ahead get input from your peers.  Sometimes even your children have some jewels to pass on, but don’t forget to obtain and give extra weight to the advice and experience of godly seasoned folks.

And be cautious about buying any fresh firewood!

That’s Why — June 6, 2020

That’s Why

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a song that reminds us of why Jesus is so worthy of our praise. This is one of my favorites to sing with my family.

daddy doldrum — June 3, 2020

daddy doldrum

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Judd and his daddy decided to try out our church.  They showed up for worship one bright Sunday morning.   The precocious 3-year-old was committed to the preschool class.  He was properly signed in and dad was given a claim check to present when Judd was picked up. 

After the last song was sung, dad went to get little Judd.  However, the teacher refused to release the boy.   Dad didn’t understand the system and had misplaced his claim check.  Unfortunately, he was unknown to our folks.   He could have been a predator or someone’s angry ex.  They had no way of knowing for sure if Judd should go home with him.

So, they wrangled with words in the foyer while the other parents came and left with their little ones.   Poor Judd was held hostage, until he was the last child left in the class. 

With great annoyance, dad suggested that they bring the boy out for a face-to-face identification.  The teacher agreed.  Judd was fetched and marched into the foyer.   He looked up and saw the great concern on his daddy’s face.

And then the test. He was asked, “Judd, is this your daddy?”  Without hesitation Judd said – “No.”

He then ran back to the toys he had been playing with.  

Dad was speechless and embarrassed. 

But little Judd was in a tough spot. The new toys were fun and to acknowledge his dad meant leaving them behind. 

I understand!  There was a time in my life when I was enamored with toys – my guitars, my ambitions, my relational conquests, my academic achievements and so on.   Some were wholesome while others were downright evil – but they made up the sum of my life. 

Meanwhile, I simply refused to acknowledge God the Father who crafted me.  Like Judd I pretended I didn’t know Him and went back to my fun.   It finally took a crisis to help me see that I was stupidly choosing perpetual life in the preschool.

Judd is now a teenager, but his daddy still loves him.  He drops off a sack of groceries at the church every week.   OK not true.  The preschool teacher eventually decided that she had a Sunday dinner to make so she released Judd.

And after some coaxing, the prodigal son grabbed his daddy’s hand and went home.  It’s good that he did.   Since then Judd has been smothered in love by his family, he has enjoyed many birthdays and Christmas mornings where he received ten times the toys he left behind, and he has shared a lot of cool outdoor adventures with the daddy he once denied.

This same dynamic translates into the spiritual realm.  The apostle Paul said, “I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ.”  – Phil 3:7-8 (KJV)

Paul left behind a busy life of lesser things.  He called them dung – a revolting comparison.  He left them that he might enjoy the things that the Father had for him courtesy of Christ. 

He knew that he could not have both.  You just can’t hold grab onto the Father’s hand until your hand is emptied.

The day finally came for me when I said, “Yes that is my daddy!”  That was the day I began to experience the richness that comes through Jesus.  He granted forgiveness and a guilt free path ahead.  He loved me without condition and infused my life with meaning.  He has led me, protected me, walked with me and blessed me in countless ways.

I gave up dung to get delightful.

As for you, you may still be in the preschool class.  You can remain if you prefer.  But know that the Father, your Father, has way better waiting for you.  Feel free to contact your local pastor or me if you would like to discuss it.

They held hands — May 30, 2020

They held hands

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A song written for Ken and Ann Johnson as they celebrated their 50th anniversary. A reminder of what faithfulness should look like!

does God use a clicker? — May 27, 2020

does God use a clicker?

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So, what is a clicker?  I shall explain. I was schooled by nuns – the sisters of Notre Dame.

They wore long sleeved, black, ankle length robes and a black veil with a broad white band across the forehead.  They were girded at the waist with a rosary bead belt, big enough for Andre the Giant.

To this day I don’t know how sister Mary Cletus played such excellent kickball in that outfit.     

Their favorite disciplinary tool was the clicker.  At least that’s what we, the clicked, called it.   

It was about 6 inches long – a spindly piece of oak – a short knobby table leg. Attached to it, with a thick rubber band, was another piece of oak – a slender dowel rod.  Depress and then quickly release the dowel rod and a loud resonant click is produced.

The clicker was for control.   Click: the class lined up; Click: the line moved forward; Click: we stopped; Click: we genuflected; Click: we filed into the pew for mass; Click: we sat down.   

Seldom was a word spoken.  We were programmed to respond to the click.  Which may be why I am confused today by the sound of a click beetle.

It was a versatile tool.  When a child failed to heed the clicker, the click became a clunk.  A kid would feel its knobby wrath on their head. 

It was standard nun equipment.  Each school morn, they reported to the armory and were issued their clickers.

It was the time in the mass, to receive communion.  I was taught that communion without prerequisite confession was a big no no.  But this 10-year-old was absent on the day the class confessed.

What to do?  Skip communion and displease my teacher or do communion and anger God.  Would it be better to be struck with the clicker or a bolt of lightning? 

God was nowhere to be seen, but the nun sat next to me, so I stepped into the aisle with the rest of the class.  As we inched forward, I began to sweat, and my folded hands began to shake because – I really was afraid of God.

He had His own clicker.  Click: go to church; Click: say your prayers; Click: stop hitting your sister; Click: go to confession before you take communion.  Get out of line and expect to get clunked with God’s clicker.   

It was only reasonable for a kid to project onto God the character and ways of the religious folk that represented Him.   

I trembled as I opened my mouth to receive communion – but – there was no divine retribution.  I returned to the pew asking myself why?

Years later I learned that God looks at me with a smile on His face rather than a frown. 

I waited for Him to demonstrate His wrath, but Scripture says, “God demonstrates his own love for us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”  – Romans 5:8

Sure, He has His standards, but He Himself lived them out on my behalf. “God made the one who did not know sin to be sin for us, so that in him we would become the righteousness of God.”  – 2 Corinthians 5:21. 

Now He empowers me to live His truth.  “I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So, the life I now live in the body, I live because of the faithfulness of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”  – Galatians 2:20. 

When I fail, He responds to me with patience, mercy and grace. “For we do not have a high priest incapable of sympathizing with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way just as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and find grace whenever we need help.”  – Hebrews 4:15-16

He motivates me not by threat of hell but by His love for me.  “For the love of Christ controls us…”  – 2 Corinthians 5:14 

Such a radically different but wonderfully accurate picture of God.

If there is a lesson in the story; I guess it’s this: A kid really does project onto God, the character and ways of the religious folk that represent God.  

So, how do you represent God to your children or your grandchildren?   What of God does your 3rd grade Sunday School class see in you?  Are you quick with a clicker – or full of patience, mercy and grace?    

– All Scripture references taken from the NET Bible ®

Nothing More — May 23, 2020

Nothing More

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a song of surrender by one of my favorite vocalists- my daughter Bethany Bergman. Courtesy of pickleheavensongs. written and recorded by Jim Johnson

something’s afoot — May 20, 2020

something’s afoot

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Some folks have a foot fetish.  I, on the other hand, have a foot phobia.  I do not like feet – not big ones, not small ones.  I do not like them in a box.  I do not like them in my socks. 

Which is why I also avoid foot washing services.  For you non-initiated, a foot washing service, is a rite in some Christian denominations where the members kneel before and wash the feet of one another.  This is done out of obedience to Christ who called us to follow His example.

The Lord and I have argued about this at times.  Lord, I want to be an obedient disciple.  I am glad to tithe, even willing to up it to 11%.  And I am happy to read my Bible and pray every day – but can we just forget about foot washing?  Fortunately, my faith tradition has spiritualized foot washing as deeds of service for one another. 

But then I went to Haiti.  The big crusade was about to begin, and several thousand folks were expected to jam the soccer stadium each evening.   I was the guest speaker and it was a big deal.

My face was plastered on posters and banners throughout the Port au Prince area.  My voice would be broadcast throughout the nation by radio.  My ego was more inflated than a ticket to Disney World.

The sponsoring churches and pastors met beforehand to pray for a great moving of God.  It was then that my translator garbled something to me about a foot washing.  I went into near cardiac arrest.

The bigtime preacher and the key pastor were expected to start it off, on the platform, in front of the church.   He began.  He knelt at my snow white, soft, tender feet and washed away the lint from my socks.

I then knelt at his aged, black feet and I saw Haiti.  He had seldom worn shoes which caused his feet to be calloused and stained with the texture of tree bark.  His toenails were distorted and strange.  I was more than repulsed. 

But – I went to Haiti to touch people with the Gospel.  Should I not be willing to touch this good man’s feet in order to do that?  I poured the water and gently toweled his feet dry.

As I did, something died within me.   It was a putrid pocket of pride.  By washing his feet, He washed my heart.  This was exactly the kind of cleansing I needed before I should stand before the throng and proclaim the truth.

Something also happened in the hearts of the Haitians who were present.  They witnessed the great white hope from Texas, as he humbled himself at the feet of one of their own.  They saw me wash the dust and the dung of Haiti from this beloved pastor’s feet and it was as if I were washing theirs.

It was in that singular moment that I had earned the permission to speak the Gospel to them.

Humility is probably the most understated of virtues and yet its power to impact is exponential. 

Paul reminds us that Christ “humbled Himself” in order to accomplish the redemption of mankind.  He chose to submit Himself to self-serving leaders who twisted justice into the form of a cruel cross.  Jesus humbled Himself to reconcile all men to Himself (Colossians 1:20)  

Pride tends to be met with pride while humility provokes a humble response in others.  Perhaps that’s why Paul told us to embrace Christ’s attitude.  (Philippians 2:5) 

You said some exceptionally hurtful words to your wife.  Now she says, “I’m leaving.”   Humble yourself!   Wash her feet by taking responsibility for your part in the mess.  The words, “I am sorry,” have dressed many wounds and averted countless disasters. 

Your son is angry that he must do chores.  As a parent, you feel you have the right to demand it, but your demands are met with defiance.  Humble yourself.  Wash his feet by helping him gather up his dirty laundry. 

The group that you lead is dead-locked and the infighting is out of control.   Humble yourself.  Wash their feet by laying aside your agenda to support that of another.  

The crusade ended and was regarded as a raging success.  The Lord used me and my team to reach many spiritually hungry Haitians for Jesus.

He washed away the sins of many, but it began with the washing of the feet of one.