March 2025-Stormwatch

March 2025

STORMWATCH

Dear Friend in Christ:

The disciples sought out Jesus and asked Him, “Why do you tell so many parables and stories?”

He replied, “You’ve been given insight into God’s kingdom. You know how it works. Not everybody has this gift, this insight; it hasn’t been given to them. Whenever someone has a ready heart for this, the insights and understandings flow freely. But if there is no readiness, any trace of receptivity soon disappears. That’s why I tell stories: to create readiness, to nudge the people toward a welcome awakening. In their present state they can stare till doomsday and not see it, listen till they’re blue in the face and not get it. I don’t want Isaiah’s forecast repeated all over again:

“Your ears are open but you don’t hear a thing. Your eyes are awake but you don’t see a thing. The people are stupid! They stick their fingers in their ears so they won’t have to listen; they screw their eyes shut so they won’t have to look, so they won’t have to deal with me face-to-face and let me heal them.”

But you have God-blessed eyes—eyes that see! And God-blessed ears—ears that hear! A lot of people, prophets and humble believers among them, would have given anything to see what you are seeing, to hear what you are hearing, but never had the chance” (Matthew 13:11-17, The Message).

A PARABLE

James the meteorologist studied the computer screen again, brow furrowed in concern. He didn’t like what he saw.

The weather pattern for Friday looked ominous. James consulted the critically vital National Weather Service and NOAA forecasts. He contacted his colleagues across the region. He pored over maps. He read and re-read the well-worn pages of studies, analysis, and weather history. This was the exact scenario for which James had been preparing all of his life. James could see what was coming like an Old Testament prophet.

A catastrophe loomed. James was sure of it. All forecasts indicated a high likelihood of severe long-track tornados in the Tri-County area, including New Kensington, the largest city in the state …. his city. James loved his city and had always prayed and worked for the good of the people there. He had been Chief Meteorologist at the news station for almost three decades and had seen many storms. But he had never seen anything like this. “Something wicked this way comes,” he muttered to himself. He knew that he had to nail this forecast accurately. Lives were on the line. He was determined to thread the needle between prudent warning versus inciting hysteria.

James knew that no matter what he said, people would be angry. Recent years in New Kensington had been marked by a decided contempt for experts and expertise. Meteorologists sometimes had their lives threatened whenever they broke into “Wheel of Fortune” re-runs to offer an urgent weather report.

But time was of the essence for James. It was Wednesday afternoon and Friday was coming at him fast, just like the storm system racing across the Plains States, making a beeline for Dixie Alley. James and the station manager decided to break into an afternoon soap broadcast of “All the Young Hospitals of My Restless Lives” to warn people of the impending severe weather outbreak.

Even as James calmly urged Tri-County residents to make preparations, angry phone calls flooded into the station from viewers who missed that thing Angelina said to Brian about Loretta’s glam squad. Social media was filled with vitriolic conspiracy theories. “James is just trying to stir folks up! All he cares about is ratings. They always got to have some kind of crisis. The government is controlling the weather with Jewish Space Lasers! It’s a HOAX!”

Chaff like this always baffled and discouraged James. He was trying to help the very people who were defaming him and the news station. “No good deed ever goes unpunished,” he sighed. But by Wednesday evening, a large supercell associated with the system dropped multiple funnels across Oklahoma, obliterating towns and farms. Sadly, fatalities were reported. The system wasn’t falling apart but intensifying as it crossed the Red River into the Lone Star state.

James watched the storm chase videos with dread and looked at the ugly numbers pouring out of the weather computer. After a sleepless night, James did the sunrise weather forecast and described the mayhem that was approaching New Kensington. There was an edge in his voice. But on social media site Trixter, an internet troll named @VladTheInhaler8675309 informed his 200,000 followers that James was a member of the Deep State who allegedly once visited Gilligan’s Island, according to @Cat_Herd666 and the Safeway Pundit burner account.

Even the Governor went live on TV with a Magic Marker to show that the path of the storm would not hit New Kensington but would suddenly veer off back west to San Francisco before magically dissipating over the Farallon Islands. This was prophesied to him by Sister D.S. Believin, who was the Governor’s spiritual advisor and wardrobe consultant. “James is a fake witch and he ought to be illegal,” the Governor thundered. Tragically, many believed him.

Thursday evening, James interrupted the football game broadcast to announce the leading edge of the storm had crossed the Mississippi River, but not before laying waste to much of northern Louisiana. It was the worst-case scenario for New Kensington. A strong twister, maybe many of them, would bear down on New Kensington in the pre-dawn hours, while most residents would still be asleep; heavy rain in the darkness would significantly obscure visuals of the menacing funnel cloud. James’ social media team flooded the internet with maps, charts, warnings, and videos. James and the weather team went into continuous broadcasting mode.

Brother Bildad, James’ old Sunday School teacher called James’ wife, Grace, and said, “What’s gotten into James? Why is he saying those awful things? Why is he so negative?” Grace, true to her name, held her tongue and thanked Brother Bildad for his call. She said softly, “Brother Bildad, James understands tornadoes like nobody else in this state. Please hear him out.” But Brother Bildad said, “My trust is in the MAN UPSTAIRS to turn this twister away from us and SEND it to the “prostitutes and tax collectors” down in New Orleans. I ain’t WORRIED!” He slammed down the receiver on his old dial-up phone.

James was next to call Grace. “Honey, it’s going to be bad. Real bad. The storm shelter at the house is ready. You and the boys and old Rex should sleep down there tonight. I’ve got to stay at the station. Folks are in danger.” Grace knew. “Do what you’ve got to do. I’m proud of you. We will be fine, God willing.” James said a short prayer and told Grace goodbye for now.

The news station stood on a hill overlooking New Kensington. A few lights were still winking down below as the wind began to pick up. James scanned the heavens and noted the outline of wild clouds scudding into view, dark and writhing cotton balls against a starless and Bible black sky. As the rain began to pour in relentless sheets and bright lightning popped, he could see the faint contours of a massive, violent funnel cloud descending on New Kensington. “It’s ginormous,” he whispered, awestruck. It was moving straight towards James’ location.

He rushed into the station, back on air, and gave a neighborhood-by-neighborhood assessment of where the twister was moving, already tossing giant balls of debris into the atmosphere. The radar told a terrible story. James couldn’t hold back his tears as he pled with viewers to take shelter. Though the station was built like a fortress, he could feel it shaking and heard the banshee shriek of the wind outside … and then, the telltale sound like a great rumbling locomotive barreling down on him.

“James! Get in the shelter! It’s too late,” cried the station manager. But James stared steadily into the lone operating camera, urging viewers to hunker down NOW. Somewhere nearby, there was a sound of shattering glass. The power cut off. The time for warning was over. James practically dove into the shelter, pulling the door closed behind him, securing it and collapsing in a heap at the bottom of the shelter stairs. “Jesus, help.” It was the only prayer he could pray. His heart was broken.

If you run into me sometime, maybe I can tell you what happened to James, Grace, the boys, and old Rex. You don’t want to hear about Brother Bildad.

Isaiah 30 gives another kind of grim forecast. It has to do with God’s people who turn away from Him, refuse to hear His voice, and suffer terrible consequences. Isaiah also gives a comforting promise of redemption to those who repent:

Therefore, the Lord will wait, that He may be gracious to you; and therefore He will be exalted, that He may have mercy on you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for Him. For the people shall dwell in Zion at Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will be very gracious to you at the sound of your cry; when He hears it, He will answer you. And though the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your teachers will not be moved into a corner anymore, but your eyes shall see your teachers. Your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” whenever you turn to the right hand or whenever you turn to the left (Isaiah 30:18-21 NKJV).

Who you believe will be the major factor in determining what you believe. Be careful where you place your trust. In times like these, when it’s harder and harder to know reality from lies, we need reliable, faithful voices of integrity and clarity. They may not always tell us what we want to hear. Their perspectives may be much different than ours. But they can save our lives. My late father said, “The only popular prophets are either dead or false.”

We desperately need the Holy Spirit to lead us and place us in right relationships. Our ultimate trust is in Him, but He also instructs us to seek wise human counsel. Knowledge of His Word and spending time in His presence … giving thanks to Him, remembering Who He is and all He has done … will sharpen our discernment. Holy Spirit, please guide and comfort us.

April 29-May 1, we will gather in Gatlinburg, TN, for our annual CSM Family Reunion. This will be a time of fellowship, worship, and discipleship as we grow together and focus on “Restoring the Generational Bridge.” We would truly love to see you there. Bring a friend! See csmpublishing.org for registration information … deadlines are fast approaching!

This has been an unusual Pastoral Letter. Some have simply read an intriguing story about weather. Others have seen deeper meaning in the parable. I’d love your feedback and conversation. What do you think? Connect: @CSMinPublishing. You can call our office at (251) 633-7900. And, if the Lord leads you to support CSM this month financially, we truly need and appreciate you. See card enclosed.

In Jesus,

Stephen Simpson

President