Facing Trials

August 31, 2017

In the face of overwhelming disaster such as is being played out by hurricane Harvey in Texas and Louisiana, it seems almost callous to speak of the small blessings of life for which I give thanks today, except that many who have experienced the worst of the storm are themselves giving thanks that though property has been washed away, their lives have been preserved and their hopes and dreams for the future are undiminished. It is not for those untouched by disaster to instruct those in the throes of it how they should react; the best we can do is to demonstrate love in caring for and assisting those whose lives have been tragically uprooted.

It nonetheless remains important to consider how we handle the troubles that come our way, for even in the absence of such massive destruction, every human being sooner or later is faced with hardship, loss, and the temptation to simply give up. Some refuse even to face difficulty, instead retreating from it in denial. Others engage in finger-pointing, blaming other people or even God for their misfortune. Some bury their souls in substance abuse. But others face the issues head on, running like first responders towards the problem while others are running away. 

Such behavior is rarely instinctual, but is always necessary if we are to overcome rather than be overcome. The world has enough nay-sayers, critics, and blamers. I am thankful for those who when faced with difficulty, instead offer prayers, a word of encouragement, and a helping hand.

Thinking About Disaster

August 30, 2017

It’s a sad commentary on modern American life when it takes a tragedy the magnitude of hurricane Harvey to unite us even for a few moments. For the first time in months, we are hearing of something other than the continual sniping going on in Washington. Unfortunately, the blaming will probably soon pick up once again after the initial shock of the storm has subsided. 

In many circles, religious ones included, people ask, “Why?” What did the people in Houston and environs do to deserve such devastation? Sad to say, there will be no shortage of right-wing religious pundits telling us that it is God’s judgment on America for her many sins. I hope my prediction is a total miscalculation, but it won’t miss the mark completely. 

No less than Jesus Christ himself weighed in on these kinds of tragedies when his disciples asked him about certain Galilean Jews who had been slaughtered while in the very act of worship. The story is found in Luke’s gospel, chapter 13:

Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices.

Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.

Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."

Jesus categorically denies that human suffering, whether caused by deliberate human depravity or merely by the too-ordinary misfortunes of life, is necessarily the judgment of God. Bad things happen to all people, as do good things. God makes his sun to rise on the evil as well as the righteous, the Scriptures declare. It’s how Jesus ends his little lesson however, that makes people nervous. It sounds like a condemnation, when in reality, it is a necessary warning. His call for repentance is his way of telling us that in light of the uncertainties of life of which he has just spoken, it is well for us to be ready now for the death that can come at any moment. In other words, live today as one ready to die. 

Those of us fortunate enough to live in middle-class America expect to live a full and long life. When life is cut short, we not only take it as a tragedy, but almost as a personal insult. “This shouldn’t happen to people like me,” we think. But often enough, it does. And if it doesn’t happen to us, it comes to people no less deserving of long life than we. Human history is full of sorrow and suffering, undeserved pain. We can try to explain it or explain it away, but it persists. Jesus was a realist. So he told us simply to be ready. I am grateful that he did. It doesn’t change the tragedy, but it changes how I deal with it when it hits me. And it cautions me to be careful how I think, talk, and act about tragedy that hits others.

Growing Faith

August 29, 2017

For years, when people would ask about how to grow in faith, I would quote Romans 10:17, “So faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.”  

“Read your Bible,” I would say. It’s true. If our faith is weak, it’s often because we see our situation more clearly than we see our Savior. Getting our eyes focused on Jesus will grow our faith. But that’s only part of the picture. Liberal seminaries have no shortage of Bible scholars who don’t have a flea’s worth of faith. They know the Bible, but its authority for matters of life and godliness is watered down by an interpretive framework that makes it merely one of many resources. In their view, the Biblical text as it has come down to us cannot be trusted to give accurate information about its own central characters such as Abraham, Moses, David, and even Jesus Christ. Bible study is one way to build faith, but strangely enough, faith is required for it to build faith.

This morning’s Scripture highlights one other means of growing our faith. It also comes from St. Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians. Romans 4:20 “[Abraham] grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God.” Did you catch that? Abraham grew strong in his faith by glorifying God. Our faith grows as we study the Scriptures as did the early Christians, looking for Jesus in every passage. In everything we do and everything we say, we also lift up God so people can see him for who he really is. By focusing on God, our faith grows strong. It’s not rocket science. It’s basic Christian discipleship. And though it isn’t easy, it is simple, so even people like me can get it. That makes me happy tonight. And thankful.

Bored

August 28, 2017

It’s 9:30 pm. The day started ordinarily enough at about 7:00 am, a little later than usual. After working out, I fixed breakfast for Linda and myself; I’m actually getting pretty good at omelettes, one of the very few things I can cook that you’d want anywhere near your mouth. A couple hours at the church putting Scriptures and sermon theme together for the bulletin was followed by a very productive lunch meeting, before heading home to cut down and cut up a tree in our backyard with the help of my wife and granddaughter Jo. Have you ever wondered why we cut up a tree? I can see why we cut it down, but shouldn’t we then cut it apart? Why cut it up? The English language can be very confusing.

By the time the tree was finished and I had showered, it was time for supper, then men’s group. And now I’m home again. I haven’t had time to practice my bass or to do any reading or even watch TV, the latter of which is probably a good thing. It’s not a life that will be recorded in history books; I certainly haven’t accomplished the gargantuan goals that some have reached, but each day is a new gift that I don’t want to squander on things of little importance. 

I don’t understand people who say they are bored with life. I can understand when people’s bodies no longer serve them well, but if we are reasonably healthy, how can we get to the point where life holds no interest? I’ll never live long enough to do and see all that interests me. I am thankful for the health I’ve been given, the new opportunities and challenges that keep coming my way, and for the grace and goodness of my Lord Jesus Christ that keeps tugging at my heart, opening it up to the amazing vistas of the Almighty God, our Heavenly Father. At the same time, I pray for those caught in life situations that carry them to the edge of despair, like those enduring Hurricane Harvey. May grace, relief, and deliverance come to them. If we have been spared such disaster, it is so we may do what we can to offer assistance.

Two Congregations, One Body

August 27, 2017

It’s cozy in Dunkirk. About twenty faithful people gather to worship in a sanctuary built for ten times that number. In the six weeks we’ve been together, I’ve learned their names, grown to love and appreciate them, their faith, their tenacity, their acceptance of me. Today was supposed to be my last Sunday with them, but the powers that be haven’t yet been able to come up with a suitable replacement for me. I can’t imagine it would be that hard, but that’s what I understand. 

I rode the bike home to change my clothes for Park church’s “I Am Free” event in the village commons. As I came within view of the commons, I could hardly believe my eyes. Worship was over, but the area was completely filled with people. They were lined up for the chicken BBQ, for the back to school supplies and haircuts, milling around the car show, and seated at tables under the tent. I was told that we served a thousand chicken dinners. I didn’t think we had even prepared that many, but there were a lot of people there. 

They heard the Gospel proclaimed, ate well, received gifts, and were blessed by the generosity of God’s people. Besides Park’s people, Conduit Ministries from Jamestown were on hand with their sno-cone truck. We had to leave early to attend a fiftieth wedding anniversary, and as we left, volunteers were loading tables onto a trailer to be taken back to the church. Firemen from both the Sinclairville and Stockton departments had cooked the chickens, five hairdressers worked nonstop for hours. Park people have been meeting for months, planning, and were out in force to make this a day to remember. 

People who come to events like this have little idea how much work goes into what they receive. Being retired and working at another church, for the first time in years, I wasn’t a part of the volunteer team. It feels odd, but it also feels good to be a part of a congregation that gives so freely. Will people flock through the doors next Sunday because of what they experienced today? Probably not. But in the same tradition as Jesus himself who fed thousands, most of whom stopped following when the free lunches ended, we serve because of the love of God. 

One congregation is small and struggling; the other is vibrant and strong. Both are the Body of Christ, his precious Bride, Beloved by him, God’s people for whom I am thankful tonight.

Cousins

August 26, 2017

Family photos are not usually of much interest to people outside of the family. We all have been subjected to Aunt So-and-so’s endless photo albums of nieces and nephews; we’ve all seen family pictures on Facebook, often wondering why people chose those particular photos to inflict on unsuspecting friends. So, you are free to skip the photos and read the article. Or you can skip the article and look at the photos. Or you can skip the whole thing. Your life will probably not be significantly diminished if you do so.

Today was the Henthorn family reunion, my mother’s 95th birthday celebration, and my brother and sister-in-law’s 50th wedding anniversary, all rolled into one. My cousins brought their mother, my mom’s only sister, as we gathered at my brother’s home for food, fun, and plenty of conversation. When we were kids, we got together with our cousins twice a year, camping vacation in the summer, and Christmas Eve in the winter. Over the course of life, we all went in our separate directions, but somehow seem to have maintained the same values. Except for the eldest who is a psychologist, my cousins went into business, doing quite well for themselves. When my uncle died a few years ago, we got together for the memorial service and had such a good time together, we wondered why we hadn’t done this before. Every year since, we’ve been  getting together. 

I wish I could describe the feeling that comes from spending these times with my extended family. When the meal is over, the kids have slowed down from the craft activities my cousin Patty has planned, and the last arrow has hit its target, the goodbyes stretch out as we hate to end the day. The Bible tells us “how good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity…there the LORD has commanded blessing, life evermore” (Ps. 133). It’s true of cousins, too. It’s been a wonderful day for which I am very thankful tonight. 

And it’s OK if you skip the pictures.

Alive and Well

August 25, 2017

Last night after supper, Linda and I gathered together our grandkids’ sports schedules and our own activities, and started filling in our calendars. Let me tell you, folks; it ain’t pretty! To be fair, I can’t blame it on the kids. It’s my own choices that are driving me nuts. For the past three years, I’ve done pretty well as a retiree. I haven’t taken on too much, opting instead mostly to just get things done around the house and yard. I’ve gone on the occasional mission trip, preached a few times, but otherwise, have been pretty lazy. It’s been nice. And apparently, it’s pretty much over.

New Horizons Band starts up next week. Wednesday and Friday afternoons; that’s not too much, is it? Tuesdays, I try to make it into Jamestown to visit some friends, attend a pastor’s prayer group, and run errands. I’m usually gone from about 7:00 am till mid afternoon. No problem. But now I’ve taken on a church. It’s billed (at my insistence) as ‘pulpit supply,’ which means I only have to be there on Sundays, but I don’t know how that could possibly be effective, so Monday and Wednesday mornings, I’m in Dunkirk, visiting with people, trying to make connections. Thursdays are low key, but they start early with a 6:00 am prayer time with some men, and Friday mornings is our writer’s group. I don’t know yet when the bass society meetings will be, and I haven’t even started with the grandkids’ schedules, much of which conflicts with stuff already on the calendar. I’ve enjoyed the freedom of not having a fixed schedule. What in the world am I thinking? 

I’m not complaining. Well, maybe I am, but only to myself. I have chosen this life, and am well aware of many people my age and younger who would gladly be mobile and healthy enough to do half what I’ve set out to do. This afternoon, after visiting with some Amish friends, I checked out a truck at a dealership while Linda went for groceries. Not seeing anything I liked, I walked to the store where she was shopping. I was able to walk erect, with an even stride, without pain or shuffling. I can see and hear reasonably well with the help of glasses and hearing aids. Although some might dispute it, my mind is pretty good. In a few minutes we will leave home to have dinner with some dear friends. Why would I want to stop living before I’m dead? I am grateful for the life I’ve been given, and to be able to live it to the full.

Eyes Wide Open

“Pastor, I’m leaving the church.” The woman was genuinely saddened, but had made up her mind. The greeting line after worship is never the right time for such conversations, but self-absorbed people cannot grasp that fact. Her pastor had heard it all before. Anyone who has even a few years under his pastoral belt has memorized the reasons and excuses of people who have forgotten that God has commanded us to “keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:3). “People are gossiping, the leaders aren’t living holy lives, the music is too old-fashioned (or too loud), ‘I’m not being fed’ (My personal favorite. What this really means is, ‘I’m not being spoon-fed’). I cannot recall a single instance where people have left the church because the doctrine was deficient.

Her litany finished, the pastor calmly asked her to stay put for a few minutes. While she waited impatiently, he walked to the kitchen, filled a glass to the brim with water, and brought it to her. “Do me a favor before you go,” he asked. “Take this glass and walk around the sanctuary without spilling a single drop.” She agreed, and started off. A couple minutes later, she was again standing before him. “Did you spill any?” the pastor asked.

“Not a drop,” she said, somewhat smugly.

“How did you manage to do it?” pastor inquired.

“Well, I walked slowly and kept my eyes on the glass.”

“You didn’t look around at the people in the sanctuary?”

“I couldn’t, if I wanted to keep from spilling the water.”

Her pastor smiled. “It’s the same way in life. If you keep looking around you at others, things will surely get messy. The only way to succeed is to keep your eyes on Jesus.”

Psalm 16:8 says, “I keep my eyes always on the LORD. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” The only way to keep from being shaken in this life is to keep looking to Jesus. Whether it is personal morality and ethics, or simply getting along with other people, the only way to do it is to keep our eyes on him. Whenever I have neglected to do this, trouble was not far away. And it’s not always easy. Sometimes, we get tired. Our spiritual eyelids droop. Or we become blinded by the shiny baubles of this world, things and experiences that glitter, obscuring our line of sight to Jesus. Sometimes we deliberately shut our eyes to the truth God is speaking. I am grateful tonight for the Scriptures that keep calling me back to my anchor and grounding in Christ. When I look to him, the author and perfecter of my faith, (Hebrews 12:2), all is well. When I turn my gaze to the right or left, life starts to unravel. I am thankful for the Holy Spirit who keeps nudging me, guiding me to the Scriptures that cleanse and purify my soul.

Grow

August 23, 2017

They manage to push up wherever even the smallest fissure creases the parking lot. Crabgrass is an opportunist; if a seed manages to find its way into even a hint of soil, it will grow. I arrived early for a meeting, and not having a key to the church, I occupied the time pulling the crabgrass lurking in the pavement cracks. One of Jesus’ more famous stories is his parable of the Sower. At first glance, this story is misnamed, because the bulk of the emphasis is on the seeds and the different soils. It really is though, all about the Sower. The seed is his, as are the different soils.  

Much attention has rightly been given by commentators and preachers to the various soils, comparing them to different conditions in human hearts. But that’s not the only way to look at this story. In addition to describing the various conditions that hinder the growth of God’s Word in us, it’s possible to see it just a bit differently, which is what catches my attention tonight. Despite all the obstacles to growth, the fact is, given the right conditions, the seed will always grow. That’s the way life works. Little babies are cute, but if they don’t grow, we get worried. We even have a name for it: failure to thrive. Why is this? Because it’s normal for living things to grow. We don’t have to encourage babies to grow; all we have to do is make sure the right conditions are there, and that the obstacles to growth are minimized. The same is true across all  of life. 

The people in the church I’m serving at times seem like that crabgrass in the parking lot. At first glance, all you see is the blacktop. But even the smallest fissure becomes a garden. The blacktop is dead stuff. It has to be sealed and cared for to keep the grass from growing. That grass will grow under the most unfavorable conditions if there is even the slightest opportunity. I am thankful tonight that we are people of Life. Our circumstances may seem as bleak as a blacktop parking lot, but we are spiritual opportunists. God’s life will spring up in the most unlikely places, and we have the privilege of being a part of the miracle.

Adulting

August 23, 2017

In our culture, there is no set time, no formal moment when a child becomes an adult. More traditional cultures have their ceremonies and rituals to mark the passing from childhood to adulthood. We have often labeled as ‘primitive’ some of these societies that send boys on a dangerous quest, or that have ceremonies in which the elders initiate the child through rites of pain. We are more familiar with the Jewish ceremonies of Bar or Bat Mitzvah, or the Hispanic Quinceañera that marks the transition of a girl to womanhood on her fifteenth birthday.

The closest thing most of us have to such marked transitions is perhaps the obtaining of a driver’s learner’s permit when one turns sixteen, but for most of us, the transition is at best nebulous and vague, with an extended adolescence that by our government’s measurement of healthcare, keeps a young person in a state of childish dependence until the age of twenty six, resulting in a generation of middle-aged adolescents. But I digress.

Last week, I commented to our daughter that sometime over the summer, her son stepped out of boyhood into young adulthood. He carries himself differently, exuding a confidence and demeanor that he didn’t possess at the beginning of the summer. 

I would be hard-pressed to pinpoint exactly when our eldest granddaughter became an adult. I suspect she would point to her first day of college, or perhaps more specifically, when her shopping consisted entirely of those mundane necessities such as shampoo, laundry soap, and paper towels. Returning from one such outing, she exclaimed that she wasn’t too excited about “adulting.” My own read on the situation would be last year at college when she handled a very difficult situation without the intervention of any family members. 

This morning, Alex came over for breakfast. We ate, but more importantly, we talked. The conversation ranged from funny and innocuous incidents to life issues of education, career, faith, love and marriage. In our spare bedroom hangs a photo of Alex as a toddler. Childhood melded into adolescence, but somehow, I missed the transition to adulthood. But as we sat this morning, it was not a child or even an adolescent sitting at the table, but a grown woman. 

As she stood to leave, I took her by the waist and suggested that we pray. Somehow, it is easier to send her off into her future with prayers that commit her into the hands of our loving Heavenly Father, before whom we all remain children, no matter how grown up we are.

Unplanned Blessings

August 22, 2017

Sometimes it doesn’t take long to figure out how the day is likely to go. Linda’s car was scheduled for some minor repair work for this morning, so at 8:00 am, we were on the road, her in her car, me following in my truck so she’d have a ride home. About six miles down the road is the four corners of Gerry, which is where my truck started dinging, drawing my attention to the temperature gauge which was spiked at the max. Of course, she hadn’t taken her cell phone with her, so my calling was in vain. She was all the way to Jamestown before she noticed I wasn’t behind her. 

I called son Matt for a ride to pick us up. Fortunately, school isn’t yet in session, so he was available. As soon as we got home, I headed to the funeral at which I was to officiate. Funerals always make me nervous. My stomach was churning as it usually does before preaching. Once we were finished, a call to our daughter Jessie secured their second vehicle for our use for a couple days. Then it was down the road to pick up the truck and get it to the mechanic. By the time all that was done, my original plans for the day had totally evaporated. A quick supper was going to be the backdrop for about an hour to just relax and rest my left foot which was throbbing with plantar fasciitis. That is, until unexpected company stopped by. Men’s group for me, while the women met at our house for the evening.

The day didn’t go as I had planned, but I have no reason to complain. There are plenty of people for whom this would be the best day of their life. Even with the things that were unplanned, I was surrounded by beauty in the blue sky dappled with snow white clouds. I have a wife who wasn’t rattled by my absence at the body shop, and kids who are more than willing to lend a hand. 

On top of all that, we witnessed an eclipse, a minor miracle in itself. Other planets have moons, but none have the exact convergence of size, distance, and orbital trajectory to produce an eclipse. In the entire solar system, earth is the only planet to have such an event. While that isn’t proof that there is a God, it does give us cause to reflect. This unplanned day, as well as those that are everything I dreamed, are gifts from God, for which I am thankful tonight.

All We Need

August 20, 2017

His heart was still right after all these years. He just didn’t know it. Forty years earlier, he had wanted to deliver his people from the slavery they had known for 400 years, but he botched it miserably, killing a man in cold blood. He thought he had covered his tracks, but was found out, and had to run for his life. Now, all these years later, years spent wondering what might have been, years of saying, “If only…,” years believing that he had blown it so badly that there could be no redemption, God kindles that lifelong dream once again, as Moses kneels before a burning bush, a bush that mirrored the burning in his soul.

“Moses, you are going to deliver my people,” God had whispered to him. “I’ve heard their cry, and I’m sending you.”

“Who? Me? Don’t you remember how badly I screwed things up back then? Now look at me! I’m just a shepherd. I don’t have what it takes.” It’s almost funny the excuses we can come up with when God is on the verge of handing us our heart’s desire. Sometimes we run from the very dream we want so badly. Maybe we’re afraid we’ll fail again; maybe we don’t think we deserve God’s trust; maybe we just don’t want to go through all the hard work. Whatever the reason, we throw before the Lord every excuse we can think of, including the one Moses used. 

“I can’t possibly do this. Nobody’s going to listen to me! I don’t have the credentials, the experience, the influence, or the resources to do what you’re asking.” Somehow, God isn’t concerned about any of that. He asks Moses what he has in his hand. A good question for us to consider. 

2 Peter 1:3 says, “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.”

This is either true or false. If true, then we have everything we need for what God has called us to do. Everything! If we don’t have what we need for what we are doing, either it’s something we don’t need to be doing, or we haven’t prayed for provision, for James says, “We don’t have because we don’t ask.” (Jas. 4:2). 

Hear this clearly: We already have what we need to do what God is calling us to do. We can’t use the excuse that we don’t have enough talent, money, brains, connections, or strength to do what God wants us to do. If Jesus can feed 5,000 with five loaves and two small fish, he can provide what we need. After all, Psalm 50:10 says that he owns the cattle on a thousand hills; he can sell one any time he wants to provide for his children. God took what Moses had and repurposed it for eternity. The staff that used to guide sheep would part the Red Sea, provide water from the Rock, guide God’s people through the wilderness to the banks of the Jordan. The God who did this can take what is in our hands and use it for eternal purposes, if we simply offer it to him. And in the process, he gives us what our hearts have yearned for, even without our knowing it, often rekindling a fire that used to burn brightly, but which had cooled over the years. What a great God we serve with gratitude for not only stooping to partner with us, but for fulfilling our heart’s desire and equipping us for every good work.

Distance

August 19, 2017

Being busy has its advantages. From 6:30 till about 11:00, it was non-stop action, with grandkids crawling out of bed from 7:00 till 9:30, all of them needing breakfast before they headed in different directions for the day. We tend to eat in shifts, the younger ones being the early risers, followed by the older teenagers, with the exception of Eliza, who could (and has) sleep till noon. Nate’s girls had swim practice at 7:30, so except for Alex, they were up and out the door by 7:00. You see, there are exceptions to every rule.

By the time all the beds were made, the dishes done, and laundry in the wash, the last of the kids were gone, and I had time to sit with my coffee to read and pray. And that's when it sinks in. I'm here by myself. Linda is still with the girls on their annual Christmas shopping spree, and I am here all by myself. I don't mind being alone, except for the times when Linda and I would normally be doing something together. Like our morning coffee. I got a text from her telling me that she had breakfast alone. Apparently the others hadn't gotten up yet, and she was feeling the same emptiness that I was feeling. 

Psalm 68:6 says (in the King James Version I learned as a kid) “God setteth the solitary in families.” For years this didn't make any sense to me until I realized that in this instance, ‘solitary’ is a noun, not an adjective. God puts people in families so we don't have to be alone. Of course, that doesn't always work, as sin and dysfunctional family systems keep even family members estranged from one another.

Today, we were both solitary. It was only temporary, but the emptiness each of us felt was like a dark spot in our souls. We are made in the image of God, which among other things, means we were made to live in relationships. God is Trinity. The classical description is in the form of a prayer to God the Father ending with these words, “in the Name of Jesus Christ your Son, who lives with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit.” Relationship is at the heart of who God is, and is at the heart of what it means to be human, and especially at the heart of what it means to be Christian. Relationship with God and relationship with one another cannot be separated. As John says, “How can we say we love God whom we have not seen if we do not love our brother whom we have seen?” (1 John 4:20).

If our temporary separation causes us distress, it must be heartbreaking to God when by our sins we choose to live even in temporary separation from him. In this light, sin isn't as much breaking God’s Law as it is breaking his heart. Oh that I would be as distressed over my spiritual distance from him as I was over this morning’s geographical distance from Linda!

Hope in the Darkness

August 18, 2017

I didn’t want to do it, but apparently it’s about time. I think I’m fairly tolerant and forgiving; I’ve regularly picked up beer cans, pop cans, paper cups, plastic bags, shirts, socks, and even a soiled baby diaper. Some people seem to think our creek bank and swimming hole is their personal garbage dump. The two beer cans, pop bottle, energy drink bottle, and assorted papers I picked up tonight were run of the mill trash; but the used sanitary napkin put me over the edge. Sad to say, I think it’s time to post the land.

We live in a country in which people are increasingly fixated on that which offends them, and decreasingly aware of or concerned about how their actions affect others. Black Lives Matter had people rioting in the streets of Baltimore and Milwaukee, unconcerned about the livelihoods destroyed or people hurt. Anti-Trump people attacked Trump supporters leading up to last year’s election. Neo-Nazis take to the streets in Charlottesville. Every day someone is offended by something, leading them to make demands of the rest of us. The tolerance we want for ourselves we deny to others. We are increasingly narcissistic and self-contained, and like a spoiled child, we get mean and ugly if we don’t get our way. We are not the kinder, gentler nation envisioned by president Bush. 

Yesterday morning I sat reading my Bible and working on a sermon in the breakfast area of the motel, when a couple with their two young boys came in. The boys were about four and five, the parents probably in their early thirties. Both parents were thoroughly engaged with the boys, who were polite, respectful, and mannerly. As they were getting up to leave, I commented to the parents on how well they are raising their boys. They thanked me, and the father gave credit to his wife who is an elementary school teacher, I told him how important his role model is, and his wife spoke of what a fine father he is. 

This evening, I have the grandchildren for the night without the benefit of Linda’s calming presence. Gemma wanted me to see the fairy wings and outfit she got for Halloween, insisting that she wear them through the evening. Until Izzi broke her toe, the cousins played kickball in the backyard without even arguing. Alex and Abi will help put them all to bed later. The parents I spoke with yesterday, our grandkids, and even little Gemma tonight, give me hope. In a world of selfishness, evil, and violence, there are people who are determined to do what’s right, swimming upstream against the current. And there are children whose innocence still tugs at our hearts, reminding us of how life can be, if we will receive it with wonder and joy.

Seeing God

August 17, 2017

After losing his wealth, his family, and his health, Job’s three friends came by to offer comfort. They might have succeeded had they continued the way they started. For seven days, they simply sat in silence with him, offering what is called “the ministry of presence.” Then they opened their mouths, and whatever comfort they might have given evaporated in the fog of their self-proclaimed wisdom. Sometimes silence is the best wisdom we can give.

They alternatively blamed Job, and tried to defend God for the troubles that had descended upon him. Some comfort! Life isn’t that simple, and God doesn’t need our defense. He is well able to take care of himself. The “comfort” offered by his friends prompted Job to defend himself, which was almost as big a mistake as their misguided words. Finally, after putting up with their misguided babble, God himself thunders onto the stage with a furious blitzkrieg, challenging the puny wisdom of these mere mortals. And rather than putting an arm around Job’s shoulder and clucking, “There, there,” he throws down the gauntlet, challenging Job to defend himself like a man. God’s assault is so sudden and overwhelming that Job is left dumbstruck, declaring that formerly, he had “heard of you with my ears, but now my eyes see you, and I repent in dust and ashes.”

It’s not uncommon for Christians to sing and pray to “see God.” I wonder if we have any idea what we’re asking. We imagine that such an seeing God will be a beautiful experience that fills us with peace and joy, that we can somehow conjure up this encounter with little effort and no sacrifice. Alas! It is not so. I cannot recall a single instance in which an unmistakeable divine encounter did not come through great trial and suffering. We all love the pleasant pastures and still waters of Psalm 23:2, but it is only in verse 4 when we go through the dark valley of death that God becomes personally real to us. God is addressed in the third person in verses 1-3; it’s only in the trial of verse 4 that “he” becomes “you.” 

Be careful what you pray for; you might just get it. And if you desire to see God, you had better be prepared for how he might want to reveal himself to you. I think I want this; it’s my willingness to go through the process God chooses that gives me second thought. In the meantime, I am thankful to know that God sees me, and never lets me go.

Family

August 16, 2017

Some of Jesus’ harshest words have to do with family. In Luke 14:26, he declared, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother, and wife and children, and brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” He couldn’t have gotten much more explicit or controversial than he did here. We read these words and have to wonder, “Did they really come from the lips of Jesus of Nazareth, who taught us to love one another? How can this be?” The answer is, “Yes, he really said this,” and “taken at face value, it makes no sense.”

Scholars have danced all around this statement, declaring either that Jesus didn’t really say this, or that he didn’t really mean “hate,” or “we must be missing something here.” I’m afraid I can’t add much to the discussion, except for saying that it is a clear warning to me to not idolize my family, something I am consistently tempted to do. 

God has blessed Linda and me with children and grandchildren who love being together. That doesn’t mean we don’t have our issues. We at times have to swallow our pride, hold our tongues, pray for our attitudes, give and receive forgiveness. All three of our children, with all their children, live within a half-mile radius from us. We all attend the same church. We celebrate holidays and birthdays together. We see a lot of each other…which can lead to problems. We are not a perfect family. But we love each other, and most of the time, we like each other. Wherein lies the danger. Even if by “hate” Jesus’ meant only that our love for God should make our love for family look like hate by comparison, his words still bother me. I’d be hard pressed to sacrifice my family even for God. Christians throughout history have had to make that decision. I am grateful I have not.

Years ago when I was preaching about family life, I proclaimed that if the church should go belly up, it would bother me, but wouldn’t devastate me. If however, my family failed, I didn’t know how I would stand it. God took me up on it: the church almost folded. They were the worst years of my life. I am grateful that my family came through it intact. And I am thankful for the times of laughter we are sharing together this week.

Hollinger House

August 15, 2017

One of the blessings Linda and I have enjoyed in recent years is being able to occasionally afford the luxury of staying at a bed and breakfast when we travel. Linda isn’t much for traveling, so it doesn’t happen too often, but maybe once a year we get away just to spend time together. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not much of a people person. With the exception of Linda. If I’m going to spend time with anyone, my first choice will always be her. I like my friends, but I love spending time with her; unlike us, it never gets old.

Tonight we are in Lancaster, PA, at the Hollinger House, an 1857 mansion recently renovated by  a woman who was battling cancer even as she was making her dream come true. When she felt well enough to travel, she scoured antique shops, Craig’s List, and vintage homes that were selling off fixtures and furniture. The draperies and bedding she and her mother sewed themselves, sometimes having a friend hold the cloth while she sewed because she was too weak to hold it herself. She died on July 3, 2016, shortly after opening. Two young friends who had walked with her through the renovations quit their jobs to operate it in her honor. 

You don’t get those kinds of stories from the Holiday Inn. This entire place is a testament to the power of love and the depth of friendship to overcome even the most difficult of obstacles. Tonight, we aren’t just staying in pleasant surroundings; we are sharing in a dream we didn’t even know was being dreamed, and are thankful to have chosen this particular house for our little getaway.

Small Stuff

August 14, 2017

“A Little Is a Lot” was the title of a sermon I heard years ago. It was taken from the text in Mark 12 where Jesus commended a widow for giving two small copper coins. By themselves, they weren’t much, but because it was all she had, her gift meant more to Jesus than the huge sums the wealthy gave. This story has often been twisted into commending stingy giving by those who can afford to do much more than they do, but today, that is beside the point.

Small things can make a big difference. Today in my bass lesson, my instructor noticed a few things about my playing, and made small adjustments to my left hand position and to the way I applied pressure to the strings with the bow. It wasn’t much; just a bit of tweaking here and there, but it made a big difference in the sound I was able to coax out of that instrument. 

An angle that is a mere half degree off wouldn’t necessarily be noticed close up, but stretch that line out fifty feet, and you have a problem. At the beginning, the difference between pregnant and not pregnant is tiny, but nine months down the road, it is a big difference! Speaking of children, Linda and I have counseled couples for years about raising kids with this advice: “If it won’t be cute at fifteen, it’s not cute at five.” I am regularly amazed at the way parents allow their children to talk to them, or how they side with the disrespectful and disruptive behavior of their children against school administrations that are hard pressed to impose even minimal discipline in the classroom. 

At the outset, a small investment in savings may not seem like much, but given a few years and compound interest, that little bit may turn out to be quite a nest egg. 

In life, a little indiscretion can bring down an entire administration, a little deception can lead to disaster. And personally, the little courtesies and kindnesses we offer one another can lift someone from despair to hope, while angry, bitter words can result as we have seen, in violence and the unraveling of society. 

The small, daily disciplines of prayer, meditation, Scripture reading and memorization, can supply just enough spiritual strength to help a person resist temptation, to endure persecution, or to stay strong when one’s health, job, or marriage evaporates. It’s easy to neglect the little things; they don’t seem to matter much at first, but the Scripture cautions us, “How can we escape if we neglect so great a salvation?” It doesn’t say we reject it; only that we neglect it (Hebrews 2:3). I am thankful for the reminder today to pay attention to the small stuff. It is, contrary to those who say otherwise, worth sweating.

Behind the Scenes

August 13, 2017

It’s a beautiful, quiet Sunday evening out here in our neck of the woods. In the distance is the drone of a lawnmower, but other than that, the only sounds are the creek that circles our property, the birds whistling in the trees, and the cat purring beside me. Linda has gone for a motorcycle ride with our friend Jeannie, the Purple Princess, and I’ve been sitting on the patio reading. After worship this morning, dinner with our daughter and son-in-law, a surprise visit from one of the few Uralistas in the area, cleaning the pond filter, and adjusting the clutch on my bike made for a quiet afternoon.

The events which have headlined the news over the weekend seem so far away, from a distant and alien world. It seems everyone is commenting on the violence that erupted in Charlotte, so there is little I can add to it that would be constructive. The Left is quick to lay blame at the feet of the Right, and the Right respond by listing all the times the Left incited violence, so that if one merely condemns the violence and vitriolic hatred without choosing sides, someone will be offended and chalk you up as a bigot or hypocrite. It is no longer enough to denounce violence and evil; it has to be done in the right way, using the proper catchwords. 

We are not surprised when the other side erupts in violence, but when our side becomes the perpetrator, we express shock and disbelief. As a society, we have bought into social evolution, believing against all evidence that we are getting better. The preacher who declares with the prophet Jeremiah that “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked” (17:9) is written off as a kook, hopelessly out of touch. Prophets have never won a popularity contest.

When I look at most people, I don’t see them as Jeremiah described. I see good people, doing their best. It is when I look inside my own heart that I recognize the truth of Jeremiah’s words. I want to believe that I’m pretty good, doing my best, an upright citizen and faithful Christian, but I know better. The Bible describes life as we find it, and no less than Jesus himself warned that things would keep going from bad to worse. But St. John reminded us that the Light has entered this dark world, and the darkness is unable to extinguish it (John 1:5), and that gives me hope. 

I preached today to a congregation that has found itself up against a wall. Hope is in short supply. So that’s what I spoke about. The story was from 2 Kings 7. The city is surrounded, people are starving, and four lepers are sitting outside the city gates, waiting to die. They finally decide that it is madness to starve to death where they are; there is no sense sneaking back into the city, so they might as well head towards the enemy camp. They could be killed, but they might be spared. So they go, and find that God has emptied the camp. No one is there! The enemy is gone, but they left behind all their stuff. So these four plunder and gorge themselves, but finally decide they need to tell their people the good news, leading to the deliverance of the city.

The God is out there in the darkness, in our communities, in the middle of all the evil that manifests itself in so many ways, working often quietly behind the scenes in ways we cannot imagine, and waiting for us to stand up and join him and discover what he is up to. We only discover his Presence when instead of staying where we are, immobilized by fear, or retreating back into the familiar haunts and habits of the past, we boldly step out into the future where we could die, but where God is already at work, readying a miracle of deliverance. I’m thankful for my quiet evening, knowing that it is anything but quiet for many, as I pray into and move into the future where God is mysteriously at work, bringing deliverance to his children.

Building the Builder

August 12, 2017

Meema/Beepa weekends roll around twice a month, and what weekends they are! Friday night dinner includes High/Low, where we go around the table and tell what was the best experience of the day, and what was the worst. The high is required; the low is optional. Invariably, one or two say that the best part of the day is being together with us. We feel the same way. Last night, the kids were in the backyard playing kickball while I was trying to get the old 8N started. We hadn’t run it in months, and the battery was completely flat. I had it on the charger for about two days, occasionally cranking it over, trying to get it to catch. Earlier in the day, I had gotten it to sputter once or twice, but that was about all I could get the old 6 volt system to do. 

Finally, it coughed to life! I let it warm up for a few minutes before backing it out and giving it a light workout. I had no sooner gotten to the backyard when little Gemma wanted to ride with me; a first for her. Every time I’d tried before, she backed away in fear. But last night she took a new, bold step and joined me at the wheel. Teaching her to steer, seeing the joyful concentration in her eyes, and her plea for “just one more time,” was pure delight. As she dismounted, she asked  if she could have a ride on the motorcycle; another first. “Tomorrow morning,” I reassured her.

She didn’t forget. Before breakfast was even finished, she was asking for her ride. Her sister had a friend over, and before the morning ended, I had given rides to four girls and Ian, who was just watching his little sister in the sidecar when I asked if he wanted to hop on back. I’ve written repeatedly about the kids, which is a bit uncomfortable for me. Every grandparent thinks their grandchildren are the best, but that’s not why I write. We have been blessed beyond imagination, having them nearby. We’re making memories, which at our age, won’t last too long, but hopefully will be recalled fondly long after we’re gone.  

After the kids went home, Linda and I drove down the road to help Matt and Jeanine paint the trim on their house. I’ve been puzzling for a week on how to get at the peak above their entry. Finally, it dawned on me, and my plan worked perfectly. And best of all, no one fell off the roof! 

I’ve been thinking lately of finding meaning and purpose in retirement. It’s different than I had imagined it would be, which is a story in itself, but it’s in the giving that I’m finding satisfaction. But isn’t that what Jesus told us? Those who would save their life do so by giving it away. Others may not have the privilege of having their grandchildren close by, but there are children all around us who need steady adults in their lives. Investing in them will at the same time, build up the builder. It’s a deal hard to beat.