Author: Merlin Erb

“Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends” (Rev. 3:20NLT).

         I had received a taste of God’s goodness and love in a simple miracle as a child. It awakened an appetite that became a deep craving for more of the reality of God, of His presence, power, and, most of all, love.

         As I moved trough my teen years, like many of my peers, I was on a quest to define my own identity. Among a host of external forces eager to dictate who I should be, it seemed an unsurmountable task to define who I really was. The person I was evolving into was not the person I wanted to become, yet external and internal forces seemed determined to shape me into someone I did not like or want to become. In all this, more painful concerns of youth that demanded immediate attention compromised the hunger for God. Thus, my teen years were filled with much searching, self-doubting, and frustration over circumstances and pressures that seemed beyond my control.

         Throughout this season, there remained that distant flickering memory of the encounter I had experienced as a child. The memory called to me, as if from a dark, distant place, like an invitation to something better than the fate I was tumbling into. While I hoped I could live a better life, the reality was that I was plunging uncontrollably into a place of depression, fear, and self-rejection, like someone hopelessly floundering in quicksand with no way of escaping. Yet the distant memory of the reality of God’s love offered reason for hope.

           As I moved through the latter part of my teen years, I explored numerous paths, from Eastern religions to strict adherence of traditional Christian practices, searching for the reality of God. From time to time, I would sense that He was near, as if He were teasing me onward in my search. I didn’t understand then that it was the Holy Spirit drawing a discontented teenager toward the love of His Father in heaven.

         This searching, however, eventually led to a dark time that gripped me with a persistent sense of being lost. It seemed the more I searched, the more I discovered how lost I really was. It felt like a hopeless entanglement in a bizarre, never-ending maze, a place of total disorientation where fear grows until it overwhelms and finally paralyzes. In a strange paradox, I was afraid of moving in any direction while at the same time afraid of not moving at all. I was fearful of the known and the unknown.

         Yet despite the paralyzing fear, moving was the only feasible option. As the world closed in and I found myself drifting into isolation and despair, I still sensed there was a place of hope and safety. There had to be. From time to time, it seemed within reach, but what I was so desperate to grab hold of somehow always seemed to slip away. What was most frustrating was that I didn’t understand what it was I had actually let slip away and why it had happened. There was a destiny calling to me. I knew that my life had been cut out for something better!

BOTTOM LINE:

         “I am the same, yesterday, today, and forever.” Those simple words of hope were like a distant whisper of truth, a memory of an enticing tidbit form God’s banquet table. These simple words continued to nudge me forward through the murky and turbulent season of youth.

merlin now: Perhaps you are thinking I’ve just dragged you through the above five post summary of Chapter One simply because I’m thinking we oldsters may not ever choose to meaningfully revisit the spiritual benchmarks from our childhood and youth. Hopefully, were we blessed with children, our mentoring encounters with their spiritual passages created the “maker-spaces” not only to assist them in transitioning from “milk” to “meat” as discussed in I Cor 3:1-3 & Hebrews 5:11-14, but also hopefully, in the realities of our present age & affliction, a clarifying, confirming & qualitative review of our personal historical spiritual foundational transitions….. Perhaps after reading the next post tomorrow, you’ll better understand

NEXT UP: One reader’s response to my Aug 22 most opened post ever, Scrolling Ourselves to Death….

What do you do after you have an intimate encounter with all-powerful God? Everything in life is changed, even for a ten-year-old hyperactive boy. Everything is seen from a new perspective. Values are transformed.

However, many people in my small world did nor seem to understand. Even the very nice people from church who had taught me all about Jesus didn’t seem to understand that Jesus really is the same as this very moment as He was several thousand years ago. At least that is how I perceived it from my childlike vantage point.

They sang songs about Jesus, prayed in His name, and acted like they believed He really was with them, but I never really saw the evidence of His presence in a way I could understood. In some ways, it almost seemed that people were bothered by Jesus. To avoid unpleasant eternal consequences, they had just enough fear that Jesus might actually exist to be pressured into behaving in a way that they thought He required.

That is how I understood the message the preacher was often trying to express: God was annoying with all the people in the world, including me. How well I behaved, or at least pretended to behave, determined how much God would tolerate me.

However, at the same time, I found there were some who seemed to experience and talk about Jesus in the way I was beginning to discover. Something was different about them. It was confusing.

         The old pendulum clock on the church wall seemed like accurate representation of the somber God our church worshipped: acting stern, demanding our sacrifices of time, and required proper behavior. Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk, the clock scolded sixty times a minute. Its stiff hands were so different from the arms of Jesus that had wrapped a young, scared boy in His love and healed him.

         This real living Jesus, who seemed to walk out of the pages of the Bible and into my life, conflicted greatly with the distant and impersonal Jesus I had previously experienced. I had yet to learn that countless numbers of Christians around the world were also relating to Jesus Christ in similar ways as I had.

BOTTOM LINE:

         My encounter with Jesus was like a little seed of truth planted in my heart but then quickly covered up with the dirt of doubt and confusion. It took many years before that seed finally found its way out of the darkness to break out on the surface of my troubled heart and once again eagerly reach out for the Son.  (Anyone recall? Am I grateful for His invitation / Sonshine?

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW:

“God, why are you letting this happen to me?” I whispered toward the cross hanging over the foot of my bed. “Why couldn’t I be alive two thousand years ago, when you could just snap your finger and heal anybody of anything? Why don’t you…” I paused mid-sentence in an attempt to hear what seemed to be a voice whispering out of the darkness in response.

         I paused, not daring to breathe. Then I heard it again. This time, I recognized the voice. It sounded like my own! It was reciting the Bible verse I had memorized just a short time before.

         “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” I listened to my own voice repeat the verse several times. Then came a shift as a different voice seemed to take over. “I am the same yesterday and today and forever, Wendel. And guess what? I am the same as always, even at this exact moment! Yes, I healed every kind of sickness yesterday, and I heal every kind of sickness today! In fact, I can always heal any and every kind of sickness you can imagine.”

         I pulled the covers over my head, uncertain if the voice was just my imagination or if Jesus was really talking to me. Not daring to move for fear of disrupting this special moment, I waited. Then suddenly, in a burst of joy and wonder Bible verses I had memorized over the many past months exploded into my mind and began to fit together, forming a simple yet profound truth. It was like finally discovering several pieces of a puzzle that locked perfectly together to reveal part of a bigger picture.

         This was a revelation of spiritual truth. It sailed into my heart like an arrow, bringing new hope and simultaneously striking death to the childish fears and doubts that had haunted me night after night.

         Excitement swept over me. I knew Jesus had come to me and that He would heal me! I knew it! Yet I also knew I needed to do something to activate the faith I had in what I knew Jesus would do.

         After some careful thought, I quietly whispered into the darkness, “OK, Jesus, I’m not going to look at or touch my knee for two weeks. When I take a bath, I will not wash my knee. I will not talk to anyone about this except You. I believe at the end of two weeks you will have taken away all the warts. Thank You!

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         Those were perhaps the two longest weeks of my young life. I was extremely careful to remain completely oblivious to what might not be happening to my knee. Finally, the day came when the two weeks were over. I watched the clock until the exact preset time arrived.

         Then I looked. I was astonished at what I saw. I could hardly believe my eyes! Yet I had to believe, for there was not a single wart to be seen, not even the slightest indication that there had ever been fifty-two warts there. My knee had been totally and completely healed.

         I began shaking as the realization sank in that Jesus, my same ancient hero of the Bible, now so much more than that, had really come into my bedroom and really talked to me two weeks earlier. He had heard my declaration and observed my act of faith. Jesus, the God of the universe past, present, and future, cared for me. Me!

         He had revealed himself to me. He had wrapped me up in His love, and I knew it.

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW…

“Who is like you among the gods, O Lord – glorious in holiness, awesome in splendor, performing great wonders? “ (Exodus 15:11 NLT).

         But I didn’t just hear about God in church every Sunday. Another place that lives securely in my childhood memories is the dark old church basement, which always had a bad smell. There was the dank, musty smell of rubber cement, library paste, and outdated rest rooms. Behind a closed door at the far ed of the basement lived a huge, a foul-tempered, ancient coal furnace.

         In that smelly basement, amazing stories were told, lessons were taught, and young lives were shaped. I learned a long time ago that a man named Jesus taught people how to live. I heard stories of how He healed people who suffered from every kind of sickness by simply touching them or speaking a word or two. I heard how Jesus had created food for thousands of hungry people out of a young boy’s lunch and how He had calmed violent storms. He had even walked on water! Jesus seemed ancient, mysterious, invisible, and distant. But He was a hero I tried hard to believe in.

         Then one day, there came the discovery that Jesus was much more than just a hero from the past. The revelation came that this same Jesus, quite literally, was really alive right now. And somehow, among a bazillion other kids in the world, He knew and loved a ten-year-old boy with fifty-two warts on his knee and who hated going to his church. 

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         I also hated memorizing Bible verses, but I wanted to go to summer camp. However, the price I had to pay was memorizing three hundred of them. Worse yet, I had to memorize the verses down in the church basement. At the far end of the basement, the furnace growled and belched as if in righteous indignation, representing the kind of wrathful God I had grown up fearing. Someday that furnace is going to destroy this place, I’d hope half-heartedly as I thumbed through my Bible, searching for the next verse on the list to memorize. Memorization did not come easily for me.  My mind was better at creating fantasy worlds, where the stories of a much more personable Jesus played out like a movie in my imagination.

         Then I found it, and it was a short verse, Hebrews 13:8. Things were looking up! Not only was it short, but it was an easy verse to remember. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”

         It didn’t take long before the simple words took root in my mind, and I hurried to the teacher to recite them before the words had a n opportunity to slip away forever. At home that night, I lay in bed, staring at a glow-in-the-dark cross I had stuck on the wall with a thumbtack. It was my reward for verses recited that evening. The glow of the cross held my attention as sleep once again evaded me, my active imagination playing out the gruesome removal of the fifty-two warts soon to be burned away.

         “God, why are you letting this happen to me?” I whispered toward the cross hanging over the foot of my bed. “Why couldn’t I be alive two thousand years ago, when you could just snap your finger and heal anybody of anything? Why don’t you…” I paused mid-sentence in an attempt to hear what seemed to be a voice whispering out of the darkness in response.

         I paused, not daring to breathe. Then I heard it again. This time, I recognized the voice. It sounded like my own! It was reciting the Bible verse I had memorized just a short time before.

To Be Continued Tomorrow…

Wendell Martin Go Now! From the Innermost Parts of the Heart to the Uttermost Parts of the World plus Forty Stories of Faith

Chapter 01 – Early Years: Part One

I was born near Cleveland Ohio in the middle of July 1953, on a very hot and humid day. And a child could not have been born to more loving and caring parents than the ones I had. God was central in our home, and “spare the rod and spoil the child” was a gentle guide that established safe boundaries and a clear sense of right and wrong at an early age. While there was strict discipline in our home, I, along with my older brother and two younger sisters, learned foundational values that served as a moral and spiritual compass, guiding me through the twists and turns of life.

         At an early age, I learned that life was more than the years I would spend on earth. I discovered the choices I made on earth would determine my eternal destiny. Such a choice was initially an easy decision. At the tender age of six, a firm confidence in God rapidly expanded in my heart. But over time, uncontrollable circumstances, which shape and steer the course of our lives, gradually eroded that confidence. Thankfully, I was about to experience a real-life miracle that would always compellingly argue on behalf of God’s very existence and His love for me. This miracle, which happened very early in my life, stayed in my heart as a constant reminder of the truth through seasons of doubt and drifting.

         In those days, miracles were not common among the Christians I knew. We were taught that they really did happen, just that it was a long, long time ago. But for me, it all started with warts.

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         I stared in dismay at the embarrassing lumpy mass of warts covering my right knee. There were fifty-two of them! “One for every week of the year,” I muttered in disgust.

         Back when I was only eight years old and quite foolish, I had become friends with a toad. I had spent an afternoon studying its grumpy face, delighting in the feeling of its sticky toes as it crouched on my bare knees, in anticipation of a dramatic leap to freedom.

         Now, two years later, I was much wiser, having been informed by more knowledgeable neighborhood kids that – as everyone knows – toads were the cause of the warts! Regardless of whether they were right or wrong, I now knew that this conglomeration on my knee was the terrible debt I had to pay for my ignorance of such matters. Though I didn’t know it then, I had formally been enrolled in the proverbial School of Hard Knocks.

         “We’ll schedule an appointment with the doctor to have them burned off.” My mother announced, which caused me to lay awake at night, my imagination running wild.

         This ungodly solution horrified me. “The doctors might as well amputate my entire leg,” I groaned with a shudder.

         My life was coming to an end, and I was only ten.

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“You search the Scriptures because you think they give you eternal life. But the Scriptures point to me! Yet you refuse to come to me to receive this life” (John 5:39-40 NLT).

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW….

By Dan Zimmerman July 2025 in The Sword and Trumpet

My Generation and Younger, Birthed & Reared In Anabaptist Communities Too Often Are Clueless of the Role Daniel Kauffman Played Historically… If you’ve not yet read yesterday’s post, Part A, I suggest you do that first...

In addition to doctrines, Daniel also defended Mennonite practices. He vigorously promoted what he called a “separated life,” by which he meant a lifestyle characterized by simplicity, plainness, commitment to church work, and the avoidance of the fashions and amusements of society. Daniel firmly believed that this kind of lifestyle had Scriptural support , and he used Bible verses to demonstrate this. He studded his sermons and books with Scriptural references, although he did little expository preaching or writing. Later generations of Mennonites criticized this, arguing that Daniel sometimes applied verses without due regard for Scriptural content. Certain key aspects of Mennonite thinking such as non-resistance, taught by Christ Himself in the Sermon on the Mount, seemed to be diminished in importance when placed in the company of matters such avoiding life insurance and membership in secret societies. Be that as it may, in his own time Daniel Kauffman gained the respect and approval of the Mennonites for his efforts to promote correct doctrines.

          As soon as he was ordained, Daniel Kauffman started to promote the idea of a General Conference. As a member of the small Missouri-Iowa Mennonite Conference, he saw a clear need for an organization to link the scattered Mennonite Conferences, to provide direction for missions and church organizations, and to provide the Mennonites with a unified voice. This idea gained traction in the midwestern states, and in November 1898, Daniel Kauffman presided at the inaugural Mennonite General Conference, held near Wakarusa, Indiana. He went to serve as conference moderator three more times and never missed a conference until 1941. The Mennonite General Conference soon established boards and committees to oversee missions, Mennonite colleges, and publications. Daniel showed himself a great committee man: he was organized, deliberate, gracious of opponents, and sought consensus. At one point, he sat on  twenty-two committees! Daniel saw the General Conference as a means to unify and equip the Church, and he poured his life into it. Fourteen regional conferences joined as members within ten years, much to Daniel’s satisfaction.       

          He also poured his life into another work: in 1905 he agreed to take the job of editor of a new Mennonite periodical, the Gospel Witness, based in Scottdale Pennsylvania. Three years later, this became part of the Mennonite Publishing House. The periodical was renamed the Gospel Herald after the Mennonite Publishing House bought John F Funk’s periodical, Herald of Truth. A steady stream of editorial articles flowed from Daniel Kaufman’s typewriter, shaping Mennonite thought and opinion for decades. In addition, he continued to write books, some of which grew out of his articles, about doctrinal matters, the Christian life, contemporary challenges, and Mennonite history. Daniel was undoubtedly the most prolific Mennonite writer of his time.

          In the midst of all these time-consuming but rewarding labors, Daniel found time to begin family life again. On February 6, 1902, he married Mary (“Mollie”) Shank, a young lady from Missouri. Fourteen years younger than Daniel, Mollie had once been his student in school. Six children arrived between 1903 and 1917: Homer, Eunice, Paul, Alice, Fannie, and John Mark. In 1909, Daniel and Mollie moved their family to Scottdale, PA, so Daniel could more easily oversee the Gospel Herald. They lived in Scottdale until 1942.

          Tragedies and trials continued to mark Daniel’s personal life. In 1905, his daughter Eunice died suddenly when eight months old. In 1917, his son John Mark died when less than three months old. In December 1922, his son Paul died just days after turning sixteen, when he fell through the ice while skating near Goshen, Indiana. And in 1933, his eldest son James died unexpectedly at the age of forty-five from a rare form of blood poisoning. Daniel also suffered debilitating illnesses repeatedly. His back was severely injured in an automobile accident in 1941. Despite these trials, he continued to work for his Lord and the church.

          In 1943, he finally retired from his responsibilities as editor of the Gospel Herald, and he and Mollie moved to Parnell, Iowa, to live with their daughter Alice Gingerich and her family. During the fall, he began to feel weak and ill. On Sunday, January 2, 1944, he preached the morning sermon at West Union Mennonite Church, where Alice and her husband were members. That afternoon he felt very unwell, and his health declined rapidly. On January 6, 1944, he died at the age of seventy-eight. His wife Mollie, their son Homer, and their daughter Alice and Fannie survived him, as well as ten grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Funeral services were held in both Parnell, Iowa and Scottdale, Pennsylvania.

          Daniel Kauffman’s influence on the Mennonite church from 1896 to 1944 was immense. His work in building up the church through the General Conference made a lasting impact on the Mennonite church. His efforts to clarify and promote correct Biblical doctrines in word and print shaped and molded the thinking of the entire Mennonite church. His conservative approach to beliefs and practices, codified in Doctrines of the Bible, though abandoned by mainstream Mennonites, continues to guide many conservative Mennonites today.   

NEXT UP:

By Dan Zimmerman July 2025 in The Sword and Trumpet

My Generation and Younger, Birthed & Reared In Anabaptist Communities Too Often Are Clueless of the Role Daniel Kauffman Played Historically…

Daniel Kauffman was without question the most prominent Mennonite church leader during the first three decades of the twentieth century. His efforts to define biblical doctrines, both in word and print, and his work to organize a General Conference for the Mennonite Church had immense consequences that remain to this day.

          Daniel Kauffman was born to David and Elizabeth (Winey) Kauffman on June 20, 1865,in Richfield, Juniata County, Pennsylvania, their seventh child. Daniel was born into a family living under a load of grief. In the late fall of 1862, four out of five children in the family caught diptheria, and three of them died within a month: John (age eleven), Susannah (age ten) and Hannah (age five). Daniel’s sister Mary Ann, then age eight, survived her illness, and her brother Jacob, then age two, did not get sick. Elizabeth gave birth to another son, Samuel, about a month after the third funeral. Thus Daniel had three living siblings when he arrived in 1865. Three younger siblings came over the next decade.

          When Daniel was nine months old, in March 1866, his family moved to Elkhart County, Indiana, seeking better farmland. In April 1869, the family moved again, this time to Morgan County Missouri. Daniel grew up near Versailles, Missouri, where the local Mennonite congregation called his father David to be a minister in 1871, then to be a bishop in 1875. David wanted Daniel to become a farmer, but Daniel was interested in education. After sustaining a broken leg in a riding accident 1879, which healed poorly, Daniel was permitted to pursue his interest.

          In 1883, after gaining his certificate, he served as superintendent of the Morgan County public schools from 1887 to 1890. He also married Ota Bowlin, a local Baptist girl, in 1887, and they had a son James, born in1888. Tragedy struck in early 1890, when Ota sickened and died after giving birth to a daughter, (who also died). Later in the year, John S. Coffman arrived to preach for three weeks of evangelistic meetings. Daniel attended, and on the last evening, surrendered his life to Christ. He was baptized several weeks later. The Mt Zion Mennonite congregation recognized his abilities and called him to the ministry in October 1892. Dan preached like he taught school: he organized his thoughts carefully and spoke clearly and plainly. In August 1896, David Kauffman died and Daniel replaced him as a bishop the following month, at the age of thirty-one.

          As a preacher, Daniel traveled widely. He aligned himself with the “Quickening” movement among the Mennonites, advocating for what he called “aggressive Christian work”: evangelistic meetings, Sunday Schools, and missions. Although he spoke Pennsylvania German from childhood, he preached in English. As a young bishop, he keenly felt the need for sound books explaining the doctrines of the Bible. Unfortunately, he found nothing in that line written by Mennonites. He decided to write one himself. He stopped teaching school in 1897 and went to live with his mother on the family farm. The following year, he published A Manuel of Bible Doctrine, the first in a series of versions which culminated in Doctrines of the Bible in 1928.

          Daniel wanted to shore up the doctrinal foundations of the Mennonite Church. At this time, controversies raged among many Protestant churches over doctrinal matters. The liberals or modernists denied the accuracy and inspiration of the Bible, while the conservatives (many of whom were later called fundamentalists ) defended both. Daniel identified himself as a conservative in these matters, taking historic Christian positions that the Bible is inspired by God and trustworthy in its accounts. He preached about doctrines, which was unusual among Mennonites at the time, demonstrating the Scriptural basis for the teachings of the church. He spoke at Bible conferences.

To Be Continued Tomorrow: