Covenant Church

No middle name. They gave him one in high school. But he never owned it. He would say with dry humor: "We were too poor to afford a middle name."

He has been gone to be with the Lord a little over four years. The last hundred days of his life were counted precious in faith, precious in love with his wife of 68 years, precious with friends, and precious with family.

I got up this AM feeling challenged. Days have been long, filled with lots of good and enough challenge. It would be a pleasant day to rest, take off, but there is work to do. I must go to work. I am the son of Lonnie Bare.

Dad worked. With nine children he worked multiple jobs. A pastor. Farmer. Carpenter. Sawmiller. Painter. Whatever it took that was honest.

To save money he would drive across town for cheaper gas, even when he later could afford not to. He shopped bargains. He was not stingy, but he was careful with his money.

Tithing and mission giving was DNA. He and Mom worked together sacrificing to care for nine children. Most of the churches they served as pastors needed huge improvement in facilities and buildings. Dad did more than his part doing the work. In addition, he and Mom paid for more than their part of the materials needed.

I am the son of Lonnie Bare.

Dad wanted me to go to college. I wanted a career in journalism. My future was planned. Dad said if I would go to a Bible college he would help pay. He worked extra as a carpenter to help with my college bill the first two years, with six children still at home.

Once I came home from college for the Christmas holidays. Dad had contracted to build a house. It was a cold December that morning we left to go to work. We made a fire of waste materials in a metal barrel. My tender college hands were often over the flames to restore circulation.

"Dad, come on over," I said again and again.

He would answer: "It's OK, son. Get your hands warm. I am not that cold."

Finally, late in the morning I said: "Dad, at least come over and stand with me. We can talk."

He laid his hammer down and came over. When he stretched his hands over the fire, I noticed they were cracked and bleeding. He never said anything. I never said anything. I saw love in action.

I am the son of Lonnie Bare. I have a debt to pay. A debt to God, my family, and my friends. Many are the times that the memory of Dad's cracked and bleeding hands have motivated me to go when I did not feel like going.

I am a son of God. Christ died to give me life. He arose from the grave to give me Hope for Resurrection.

Christ did not go to college, have a car, cell phone, ipod, Facebook, Twitter, email, fax, motorcycle, air-conditioning, health spa, four-wheeler, or airplane. He worked his whole life. Even age 12 He was busy about eternal things that matter to the Heavenly Father. He did not have vacation at Disney World or a summer in Paris having fun.

My debt is great. It cannot be repaid. My Lord gave his life to save me from sin. He was also the Lord of Lonnie Bare.

Lonnie Bare's physical remains are in a grave awaiting the Resurrection. I honor him by trying to live a life of integrity. Lonnie and I will meet together in the Resurrection.

Jesus, My Lord, who paid for my sins with His death on Calvary, I honor by being obedient to His command to "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things (Jesus commanded)" (Matthew 28:18-20). Luke 19 teaches that we are to occupy until Jesus comes. Matthew 28:18 emphasizes that Holy Spirit authority of John 14 and Acts 2 empowers us for the mission.

I, we, must not be slothful. He will come. He will, I pray, come. We are His sons and daughters, aliens and foreigners adopted and grafted into the Family of God. We cannot, we must not, fail.

One debtor to another,

Pastor Bare

Matthew 25 [read it all]