Not long ago I got a summons for federal jury duty. The possibility of having to report for service spanned a two week period of time. The government did not even require me to come in at all the first week of eligibility. My “luck,” however, ran out with the beginning of week two. Show up downtown on Monday at 9 AM in a coat and tie, the message said. And so I did.

Actually, strange as it might sound, I really don’t mind doing my civic duty in this regard. I have served on a county jury in the past. It was an armed robbery case that lasted an entire week. It was a fascinating experience. No, I can’t really afford the time away from my responsibilities any more than most other folks, but I have maintained that part of the stewardship of citizenship, like paying taxes, involves answering the jury duty call when it comes (Rom. 13:7).

I am grateful to live in a republic where the rule of law protects its citizenry. I would certainly want responsible folks serving on a jury for me if, God forbid, the time would come that I should need one. So I reported to the courthouse with a sense of civic pride compelling my availability for service and a certain positive anticipation that I might actually get chosen to serve.

After orientation about forty of us got ushered into the judge’s courtroom. She briefed us on the nature of the case and the anticipated time it might take to try it. Then began the arduous process called voir dire for almost three hours. She peppered us with question after question related to our past, legal experiences, relatives in law enforcement, etc., all with a view to determining which of us might be at all compromised in terms of sitting on the jury with impartial perspectives about the proceedings.

Finally the judge consulted with the attorneys to arrive at a list of twelve names and two alternates. One by one they were read. My name was not on the list. I was not chosen. I and the rest of us not deemed ideal for the task got sent home.

On the one hand, I felt relieved. I would be able to attend to my pastoral duties for the week without much interruption. On the other hand, I felt disappointed, even rejected, passed over, slighted, dissed (as my sons would say), shelved. They didn’t want me. In spite of the fact that the judge went to great lengths to assure us that not being selected meant none of those things, I still felt them. I drove away with a twinge of self pity and smug arrogance about how they missed the boat on having what would have proven to be a first-rate juror. No doubt my pride had something to do with the sovereignty of God in seeing to the fact that they didn’t pick Dr. Curtis Heffelfinger for service. They did ask for educational background and I did tell them I held an earned doctorate from RTS, Orlando. Mine was the only terminal degree in the bunch. Surely that had to count for something.

It didn’t. I don’t. Not in jury duty, not in life, not in eternity. I can’t say that I’ve come away with any profound insights about the doctrine of election from my federal jury duty snub. I’ve just come away more grateful than ever that God chose me, not for a jury, but for salvation from my sin and judgment that surely would have left me in the fires of hell for eternity had He not intervened by His grace. The words of Paul have been my refrain with renewed enthusiasm and gratitude. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him (Eph. 1:3-4).

I’ll take rejection by a gazillion judges for jury duty if I can possess the selection of the Judge of the universe that makes me His beloved child and delivers me from the wrath rightly due me for my rebellion and sin. Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift! He chose us not on the basis of works we had done but by His purpose and grace which He gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began (1 Tim. 1:9). Again, I say, we say, thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!

May we never ever lose our wonder that the grace of Jesus would single us out and make us His own merely for the praise of His glorious grace!

Multiple reasons and people actually. Probably more on that later.

But for now this article by Abraham Piper at the DG blog persuaded me the most.

http://www.desiringgod.org/Blog/1156_6_reasons_pastors_should_blog/

Now for grace to execute the stewardship well.

Part of my daily communion with God in the mornings includes the writings of Puritan William Gurnall as edited by James S. Bell, Jr. in a book called The Christian in Complete Armour (Moody, 1994). It’s subtitled, Daily Readings in Spiritual Warfare. Actually for some reason I’ve fallen into the habit of turning here first in my reading disciplines after my prayer walk/jog/lumber. I gave up running a long time ago.

Here is a portion from today’s called, The Effect of Holiness.

When a Christian sees holiness sparkle in the life of another believer, the grace within him springs up as the baby in Elisabeth leaped at the sound of Mary’s voice. Truly, one holy man is enough to put life into a whole society; but on the contrary, the looseness of a single professing Christian endangers the entire group of people who know him. Therefore God has given us a strict charge: “Follow peace with all men, and holiness, looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled” (Hebrews 12:14-15).

Oh to be a man holy enough to infuse life into a society and fearful enough so as not to endanger that society.

Because I am. A late bloomer that is. In more ways than one. But perhaps especially in terms of my theology coming to roost on the label reformed.

I’ve been a follower of Jesus since December 14, 1972. But until the genesis of my journey toward biblical Calvinism (there, I said it) in 1995 at Reformed Theological Seminary, Orlando, working on my D. Min. I could only “boast” being a 3.5 point version thereof.

Then a prof in a class on church administration said “You need to read this book. It has nothing to do with my class. But you need to read this book.” It was John Piper’s signature work, Desiring God. Yikes. What a mind, heart, will-blower that read was.

I almost got it, but not quite. God had to take me out to the wilderness for a season (fodder for another post in the future, maybe) to get my attention more fully. But He got it. And I have never been more certain of my orientation in thirty years. This is my pond. I fish here. It may not be a very huge pond, given the landscape of modern evangelicalism, but I will happily keep my pole dangling in these waters the rest of my days, Lord willing.

It has been my joy and terror to pastor a reformed fellowship with decidedly baptistic leanings (Orlando Grace Church) for six years now. Who would have thunk it? I’m home. Thanks be to God. I can hardly believe it. Why did it take so long to come to roost? Why so many circuitous wanderings? Why am I so slow? I am soon to be 57 and playing catch up theologically, pastorally, philosophically, and every other “ly” ad nauseum.

So why blog? To be honest, I have resisted the lure. More on that later. Dinner is ready. A man must have his priorities.