Christine C. Currie 1/31/1979 – 4/23/2021

by DanWolgemuth on April 30, 2021

Tucked neatly in the closing verses of Acts 8 is a compelling and beautiful story. A gem, hidden between Stephen, the first biblical martyr, and the conversion of Saul.

It’s the story of the Apostle Philip and a dark-skinned Gentile from Ethiopia. A nameless lost soul, on a journey home… with questions to be answered. Biblical questions. Life-altering questions.

Then Philip, a man compelled and obedient. A listener. His ears tuned to the voice of an angel. His heart courageously anchored on the call of God. His hope rooted in the sacrifice and victory of Jesus. And his power fueled by the Holy Spirit.

“Get up and Go”… the angel said.

To a sovereignly-orchestrated moment. To a cosmic intersection. To a stranger. To an alien image bearer of God. An Ethiopian.

The interaction is rich and deep. The soul-wrought questions. The inspired answers. The Spirit moves and transformation occurs. Then water. Then baptism.

And as Philip and his baptized brother emerge from the water… Philip is gone. Miraculously. Unexpectedly. Gone. “Carried away”.

We are left with the image. A parked chariot. A wet convert. A heart overflowing. And the lingering impact of a vanished saint.

While Philip is gone from the scene… his words, his compassion, his obedience to God, his wisdom, his courage, his love for his Savior and his brother linger. A fragrance of hope. The aroma of life.

A journey transformed. A life redeemed.

On Friday, April 23, 2021… Christy Currie was “carried away”. Like Philip, she answered the call of God. She went where He told her to go.

Her words were saturated with grace and truth, and propelled by love. Her Savior compelled, and she obeyed.

To any chariot. To every person.

Then Philip opened his mouth, and beginning with this Scripture he told him the good news about Jesus. (Acts 8:35)

The good news.

Then Christy opened her mouth, and always pointing to Scripture, she told them the good news about Jesus.

Philip. The conduit through which the message of Jesus flowed.

Christy. In like manner.

Then, what likely felt premature to the Ethiopian, Philip was gone.

Then, what feels premature to so many of us, Christy is gone.

Philip and Christy.

Relocated.

Alive in Christ.

A life devoted to Jesus lingers. Even after the voice is gone, the words ring true. Permanently.

A life that lingers.

Relocated, but lasting.

Acts 8 continued. In Christine C. Currie… in us.

To any chariot. To every person.

Charles Spurgeon got it right… “Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.”

Well done, Sweet Sister. Well done.

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Across the Great Divide

by DanWolgemuth on April 23, 2021

And when they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives. Then Jesus said to them, “You will all fall away because of me this night. For it is written, ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’ (Matthew 26:30–31, ESV)

Scattered.

While the disciples postured and predicted… Jesus knew. They would scatter. Not because He was unreliable, but because they were. As human beings, we all do what we can to become self-reliant. Autonomously resilient. Independently brave.

We anchor our confidence in the sword we carry (like Peter), the politics we vote, the platform we stand on, the balance sheet we acquire, the neighborhood we live in… or don’t live in, the control we naïvely believe will protect us, the precautions we’ve taken, the diet we’ve embraced, the body we’ve toned and tanned, the degrees that hang on our wall, the crowd that we run with… or don’t run with, the authority we’ve been given, and the position we’ve obtained. And collectively. Universally. Unavoidably. All of this leads to “scattered”.

We see it. Every day. In thousands of ways. We are fractured. Divided. Broken. Separated. Angry. And more sure than ever of what we can’t be absolutely sure of.

Scattered. Us. Not just our country and the world, but the church. Not The Church… but the church.

And when they had entered, they went up to the upper room, where they were staying, Peter and John and James and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot and Judas the son of James. All these with one accord were devoting themselves to prayer, together with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brothers. (Acts 1:13–14)

“With one accord…”. The same people. The same group. Those who denied, abandoned, fled, hid, and quaked.

Roughly 40 days after “scattered”… “one accord”. Roughly 40 days after divided… united. Roughly 40 days after overconfidence… cosmic dependence.

What happened? What changed?

Had Rome been overthrown? Had the Pharisees gone on vacation? Had the mob disbursed?

No… all of that was still true.

What happened was the cross. What changed was their story, their destiny, their purpose, their fear of death and destruction.

Sins atoned for. Death defeated. Marching orders to come from the Holy Spirit.

Once disciples. Now witnesses (Acts 1:8). In a growing throng of men and women. Of Jews and Gentiles. Once following in the footsteps of Jesus, soon to be empowered with the Spirit of God.

The Apostle Paul put it this way…

For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. (1 Corinthians 2:2)

Knowing nothing but Christ crucified.

Not FOX or CNN. Not my favorite blogger or a key influencer on Instagram. Not the most powerful or popular. Not my tribe or my people, but…

Christ, and Christ alone. The cross, and the cross alone.

This, and only this, can bring us together. Everything else will make us scatter. Everything else will drive us apart.

Only Jesus. Always Jesus… in one accord.

Now. Please. Now.

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A Lesson For Clive. A Lesson From Clive.

April 16, 2021

Last Fall, Clive, a Portuguese Water dog joined our extended family. Andrew and Chrissy pulled the trigger on this addition to their family of six and the adventure of puppy life quickly impacted them… and us. On Clive’s first visit to our house, Andrew and Chrissy provided a kennel. When our new family puppy is […]

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My Hero. Me?

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As a young boy, I grew up with a deep connection to the Chicago Cubs. It was daytime drama at Wrigley Field. No lights. No night games. WGN. A perfect solution for a little boy with an early bedtime. Soon, I was imagining scenarios. Building epic moments. Constructing outrageous hometown predicaments that only I could […]

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Just Bruce

March 19, 2021

I met Mary’s oldest brother in the Spring of 1975. We were sitting around a kitchen table in Indianapolis where I was an invited guest for a Sunday lunch. I was 20, and Bruce Cargo was 25. I was a sophomore at Taylor University, Bruce was a Vietnam veteran. I had been the co-captain of […]

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His Plan For My Tears

March 12, 2021

              You have kept count of my tossings;               put my tears in your bottle.               Are they not in your book? (Psalm 56:8, ESV) These incredible words from King David are an invitation into authenticity. David’s pain is real. He’s lost in the agony of defeat. His hope […]

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Anderson, Joshua, Jaylin

March 5, 2021

Names. Families. Community. Deep links to our Youth For Christ mission in Northern Indiana. Two 19-year-olds. Gone. Defenselessly murdered. The other, Jaylin, critically wounded. As I listened to the story through another Zoom update… my heart ached. But then, an unexpected jolt. Pictures. The beautiful faces. Names and a tragic story giving way to an […]

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Cazzie, among others…

February 26, 2021

Sitting on a table in my office is a small black leather Bible. Stamped on the cover in gold lettering are the words… Holy Bible. It’s a Bible that I’ve had for nearly sixty years. It’s a King James translation with very low mileage. In fact, I can’t ever remember reading it. I’ve kept it […]

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Fueled by more than headlines

February 19, 2021

The longer I live in Colorado, the more I appreciate my little Toro snowblower. I’ve had it for over ten years… and it serves me well. What I’ve learned about this machine is that it can be tricky to start. That’s why, sitting on a shelf, just above my snowblower is a can of carburetor […]

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Be Mine

February 12, 2021

Actually, I think the words most typically look like this…  Be Mine And in mid-February these letters are assembled on the top of a petrified glob of sugar, tinted with color, and molded into a Valentine-shaped human organ. It was Valentine’s Day 1975 that I went on a lengthy winter walk in rural Indiana with the […]

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