I grew up in a very fundamental Assemblies of God church. I have no bitter stories to tell. I have no scarred past… tattoos… rebellious drug-induced stories…

I have good memories. For all the good, the bad, and the ugly, I have fond memories. What I remember most fondly is great preaching and the old gospel songs. Today we rip those songs to shreds from our high theological seats and we make fun of preachers who go longer than 15 minutes. Those are still great memories for me.

When I do funerals for older saints I have this incredible satisfaction. They’ve lived good lives, they’ve loved Jesus, and they’ve loved people. Plus, we get to sing some good old gospel songs.

Those are songs that get deep in my soul and when they play (and they are played “right”), there is a stirring in my heart and I worship. It’s just… fun. 

We ended the service today with “When We All Get to Heaven.” What joy!

I am deeply thankful for the witness of those who have gone before. For all the flaws and the “messed up” theology they supposedly left us, I have found a generation that deeply loved Jesus and longs to see him face to face. In the end, that’s not all bad.

Maranatha.