It’s been a good two days at Daytona Beach. I haven’t flown into this airport in well over 30 years. But, once you get out “beach-side” it might as well be the ’70s again. The constant breeze, the hotels and condos pushed up against the sand, the constant noise of breaking surf, the sound of Jimmy Buffett songs coming from every restaurant and bar.
My first flight here was late February, 1976. I flew in from Bozeman, Montana, and the shift from that morning’s 20-below-zero to Florida’s 85 with 100% humidity was not the least bit subtle. I had a back-pack, holes in my jeans, a beat-up six-string and no clear plan. Yes, I know it sounds like a poorly written country song, but that flight into Daytona turned out to be one huge step in a great adventure that led me – eventually – to Stetson University, Rebekah, and a more amazing life than I could have ever imagined.
This time I flew in with a carry-on, a thumb-drive, and 23-pages of notes about what it means for men to live as sold-out disciples of Jesus in their church and community, and how a necessary part of personal transformation must involve mutual support and encouragement in the context of purposeful Christian community.
In other words, Christianity is best experienced in community. And for me, this weekend was as much about participating in community as it was about teaching the concept.
So I’m deeply thankful for the few good men from Christ Presbyterian Church who gathered faithfully for the three fairly long workshops.
One of my closing thoughts was this; it’s an idea that has been working on me for a while. “Imagine that something happened,” I said, “and that the men in this room were the only remaining disciples of Jesus in the entire world.”
They looked around at one another.
“I’d like to believe,” I continued, “that God could – with confidence – commission you to carry the Good News into all the world. That Jesus could say that, on this rock, he could build his church, and that the gates of hell would not – could not – prevail against it.”
– DEREK
