Tuesday, October 31, 2017

500 Years Ago

October 31, 2017

Most of the people in our village tonight observe Halloween. A bit earlier, little kids went door to door, accompanied by parents hanging back on the sidewalks. When we lived in the center of town, it was not uncommon to have upwards of 200 children knocking on our door. Living at the edge of town now, it’s just five of our grandkids and another five children of some dear younger friends. They stop in after combing the neighborhood; we have cider and donuts for the adults and hide bags of candy for the kids. After an hour of conversation and laughter around our dining room table, everyone heads for home to get their kids in bed. They have school tomorrow.

Similar scenes are played out all around our country, with the addition of adult Halloween parties and balls, with grownups all dressed up in full costume regalia (something I never could quite understand). For those not inclined to trick or treat or go to parties, there are always a full complement of dark and ghoulish movies on tv. There is one thing however, that will not even enter the minds of these celebrations.

On this day 500 years ago, a Catholic monk used the era’s equivalent of Facebook or Twitter and posted 95 Theses to the door of the Castle church in Wittenburg, Germany, not knowing at the time that he was igniting an ecclesiastical civil war. His name was Martin Luther, and he was protesting the selling of indulgences, essentially “get out of purgatory free” cards by Johann Tetzel and others, unscrupulous peddlers of these items. Luther insisted that our sins are remitted solely on the basis of Christ’s death on the cross, and that these indulgences were not worth the paper they were written on.

Luther’s ideas gained traction, leading to the Protestant Reformation and his excommunication in 1521. He was joined by clerics and heads of state, ultimately transforming the religious and political map of Europe. Lutherans, Presbyterians, Anglicans, and Methodists are among those who trace their spiritual lineage back to Luther. And even the Roman Church owes him a debt, for it was due to his initiative that the Pope Paul III called Catholic clerics together for the Council of Trent, beginning the Counter Reformation which in turn, corrected many of the abuses that had crept into the Latin Church. 


With the exception of the Eastern traditions represented by the various Orthodox churches, almost everyone who claims salvation from our sins by grace through faith alone, is indebted to Martin Luther. It was 500 years ago today that it all began, and I for one, am thankful for this bold monk who changed the course of history, and ultimately, the course of my life.

Monday, October 30, 2017

Plumber

October 30, 2017

Some Do It Yourself projects aren’t. Our hot water tank has been leaking for at least a week, at first just a slight dribble, but gradually expanding to a small, but steady stream that ran across the basement floor all the way to the other end of the house. Prices for new ones ranged from about $400 all the way to over a thousand, not including the tankless models which cost more and have extra (read: “more expensive”) installation requirements. 

Looking over the supply and outgoing lines, I noticed that the shutoff valve was between the coupling and the tank on the supply, and nonexistent on the hot line, and everything was wedged in a tiny space between the furnace and the cellar wall. It took about three trips to the basement to examine the situation before I decided that wisdom would be best served by hiring a plumber. I’ve tackled similar jobs that before I was finished had me running multiple times to the hardware for pieces and parts I hadn’t realized I needed. 

Most of the time, jobs that I think would take me a couple hours end up a couple days later, finished, but frustrating. As I watched the plumber do his work, I realized I had made the right decision. He had to completely remove the gas line just to get to the tank before cutting the supply pipes with an angle grinder. All told, he was done in a couple of hours, and his bill wasn’t a lot more than the price of one of the better models at the store. He earned his money and we have hot water!


I brought him some coffee and we talked as he worked. He had done some work for us before, so he asked how life was going for us. I told him about my non-retirement; he was surprised, having no idea what a pastor’s daily life is like. I told him that just as I could technically do his work, he technically could do mine; it would just take a bit longer for each of us. In his wisdom, God placed us both where we (hopefully) can do the most good. After the last time he worked for me, he came to church. Once. Maybe he’ll come again and give me the opportunity to bless him as he blessed me. If so, I’ll have double reason to give thanks.

Sunday, October 29, 2017

Old Ways

October 29, 2017

“New and Improved!” How often have we read these words on everything from a box of cereal to an ad for a new car? We Americans are infatuated with “new,” and with good reason. Whether it’s in medicine, technology, research, or manufacturing, innovation has improved so many facets of our daily lives that we almost instinctively believe that anything new has to be better. Not necessarily.

I have to be careful here. I’m of an age that if I grouse about new ways of doing things, people will just think I’m a crotchety old man. That doesn’t particularly bother me; there’s probably a certain amount of truth to it. The fact is, I like new. For example, I love much of the new worship music. But I also like old, like the swing and jazz music of the ‘40’s. I guess I had better like old; after all, old is where I’m going to spend the rest of my life.

Last weekend, the Hallmark channel launched this year’s round of sappy Christmas specials. I’m not being critical. It’s true; they’re sappy. But right now, I prefer them to the ghoulish and gory Halloween fare. If there’s one thing Hallmark is known for, it’s nostalgia. Nostalgia is big business. We naturally hark back to what seem to us simpler times. We forget that simple tends to be whenever we were young. What were simpler times for me were times of struggle, worry, and challenge for my parents. Their nostalgia looked back to the twenties and thirties when they were young.

Jeremiah 6:16 says, “Stand in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths, where the good way is, and walk in it. Then you will find rest for your souls.” This is not nostalgia. Jeremiah was living in a time of national crisis. The moral, political, and spiritual state of the nation was in collapse; before his death, Israel will have ceased to exist as a nation. He is hoping his hearers will take a sober look at life and consider where they went astray. The path they were presently on was leading to destruction; “There is a path that leads to soul rest,” he says. It’s an old path, almost abandoned, so hidden by the overgrowth that if you don’t ask for directions, you’ll not be able to find it. But it’s a good way. 


In just two months, people will be oohing and ahhing over new things found under their Christmas trees, things that will never put their souls to rest. But there is an old path that leads there. It even has a name. Jesus said, “I am the Way…” I am thankful tonight to have found that Way, and the peace at the end of it.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

Different is Good

October 28, 2017

“I haven’t been to church in about thirty years,” he admitted, almost in embarrassment. “Went a little to the Catholic Church when I was a kid, but nothing since then.” He, along with his wife and four kids stood off to one side in the lobby before worship. They looked a bit intimidated by all the hustle and bustle, so I walked over and introduced myself. 

“Well, I’m glad you chose us to try it out again.” I spoke as reassuringly as I could, and was soon joined by Linda, who came over and introduced herself. It was almost time for services to begin. As I walked with them towards the sanctuary, Harry blew the shofar, almost in his ear. He and his family found seats on the left as I took our usual spot two rows from the front on the right. The band started playing “Adonai,” which starts somewhat mellow, but segues into a drum solo and a driving rhythm. After the song, Nate encouraged the congregation to greet one another, as he does every Sunday. I crossed the aisle to shake his hand once more, when he commented, “Well, THAT was different!”


It surely was, and tonight at our church steak fry, he and his family were there. I can’t speak for other churches, but I’m sure it was considerably different from the liturgy he had heard as a kid and walked away from as an adult. But God had never let go of him, and is slowly but surely drawing him back home. Jesus said, “If I be lifted up, I will draw all men to me.” God’s timing can seem slow, but it is sure, and I am waiting with excitement to see his next step, and am grateful for the people who work so hard each week to lead us in worship. 

Friday, October 27, 2017

Tending the Garden

October 27, 2017

The wood was arranged in the chiminea on the back deck, and when I walked in the front door, the sweet aroma of steak filled the air. It was actually beef stew, and it was even more delicious because we ate outside on the deck, fire crackling beside, and lights twinkling above us. Linda had been listening to a radio program about marriage. The guests talked about doing special things like having date nights to keep marriages alive and growing. 

Linda and I don’t do regular date nights. With church activities, grandkids’ sports, music, and drama, volunteering and the occasional other stuff, we run out of time, and if we don’t run out of time, we run out of energy. But we have our own methods. Last night at the swim meet, there was over an hour between the diving and swimming finals. Linda stayed in the natatorium while I found a Tim Horton’s for coffee. While waiting in line, I noticed some coffee-themed Christmas ornaments sitting on a shelf, so I bought one. 


“Assume the position,” I commanded when we got home. It happens all the time around here. It means “close your eyes, and put your hands out in front of you.” She obeyed, and I handed her a tiny gunny sack of coffee beans. Tonight wasn’t a payback, but it is how we roll. At another time, it might be lunch or dinner out, putting in the winter’s wood together, or inviting friends over for coffee. Like a garden, a marriage needs to be tended. Even small acts of kindness and consideration go a long way towards reaping a harvest of love. Ours has been bountiful, and will keep us warm even on the coldest of nights.

Thursday, October 26, 2017

A Kind Word

October 26, 2017

It couldn’t have been a much starker contrast. Pulling off the expressway, a guy in a big pickup truck gets right on my bumper, and when I slowed to turn into the gas station, he deliberately swerved into my lane, almost taking out our mirror as he roared past. A classic case of jerk. As I slowed to a stop at the far pump, an attendant lounging against the nearest one sauntered over and asked what I wanted. I told him to fill it up with regular. “Cash or credit card?” 

“Credit card,” I replied, pushing it into the slot. He took the handle, unscrewed the filler cap and began pumping my gas. I can’t remember the last time I actually had an attendant fill my car. But that wasn’t all. He asked where we’d been, and when I told him that we were coming home from our granddaughters’ county swim championships, he asked which schools were participating, how our girls did, and cheerfully chatted, asking further questions as he filled the tank. 


Years ago, I stood in those shoes, pumping gas for a living, meeting some of the most interesting people. The pay was minimal, there were no benefits, but it was honest work, and I think I did a pretty good job with it. Early mornings or late nights were the name of the game, and back then, we did all the pumping. Especially after almost being run off the road, this scruffy attendant made my day. He may not realize it, and his superiors probably don’t, but he is worth more than they are paying him. The gas there wasn’t as cheap as just across the road, but he earned my future business simply by making conversation and showing an interest in me. Kindness made a difference, turning what had been a bad experience into a good one. Thank you, Mr. Attendant, whatever your name. You made a difference tonight.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

God's Forever People

October 25, 2017

How far does someone have to wander before God finally says, “Enough?” It’s an important question; one that worries many people. “Have I stepped over the edge? Have I committed the unforgivable sin?” I remember after stumbling one more time, telling God that if I were him, I’d be SO done with me. His answer? “Aren’t you glad I’m not you?” 

Israel had been rescued from slavery in Egypt, brought into the Promised Land, where for generations they periodically turned from following the Lord to chasing after the idols and gods of the nations around them. Over and over again, they turned to God when in distress, and walked away once things were going well. By the time Jeremiah had come on the scene, time was running out for the nation. Before his time had run out, Babylon had swept down from the north, isolating, and finally overwhelming the land. Anyone who was anybody was deported; only the poorest of the poor were left to provide minimal care of the land.


Through all the rebellion, all the wandering, all the idolatry, God disciplined, chastised, and punished Israel, but he never abandoned them. He complains to Jeremiah that Israel was worshipping idols, committing all sorts of immorality in the name of the perverse gods of the nations surrounding them, abandoning the LORD who redeemed them. But in spite of his anguish and his determination to punish Israel, he keeps calling them “My people.” He never disowns them. And he never disowns us. Paul tells Timothy, “If we are faithless, he remains faithful; he cannot deny himself.” (2 Timothy 2:13). Psalm 100:3 declares that “we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.” And because we are, we can as the following verse says, “enter his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise.”

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Imago Dei

October 24, 2017

He was showing me phone photos of his remodeling job, trying to explain the layout of his kitchen and dining/living room area. I got the general idea, but still couldn’t put it all together in my head. Over the course of the past year or two, he has shown me the progress he’s made in the landscaping, explaining how he had trees taken down and how he rebuilt and improved the fish pond out back. In the course of Sunday’s conversation, he mentioned that he had torn up the hardwood flooring in his living room because he wanted a different look. “It’s all going out to the curb tomorrow,” he told me.

His name is Bill; he’s our son’s father in law, and I’ve followed the progress of his remodeling ever since he bought the house a few years ago. But Sunday when he mentioned throwing out all the old hardwood flooring, I jumped on it. “If you’re only going to throw it out, I’ll take it,” I said. “We want to add a downstairs bedroom, and would love to get our hands on some old hardwood flooring.” 

“It’s yours,” Bill said, and I told him I would pick it up Tuesday when I came up his way to see my mom. His home is about a half hour beyond my mother, so it worked out just fine. When I arrived, Bill naturally wanted to show me around, and I was eager to see firsthand his handiwork. To say I was impressed would be a huge understatement. Bill is a craftsman, whether it be in his woodworking or his landscaping. He is meticulous, but even more importantly, he has the ability to picture in his mind the way things will look before he ever picks up a hammer or rake. He had shown me the “before” pictures, but it wasn’t until I actually stood in his living room and could see the whole project that I was able to appreciate his vision.


On the way home, it occurred to me that in his craftsmanship, Bill is reflecting in all its glory the image of God. For millennia, theologians have debated the exact nature of the Imago Dei, one speaking of conscience, another of morality, and still another of intellect. But I think one of the ways it is seen most clearly is in our ability to create, to mold and shape our world in beauty. Often enough, that creative ability is misused, but when someone envisions the way something wild and unkempt can be transformed into something beautiful, he is reflecting the Creator himself. So Bill, I saw in you the glory of God in your creativity, and am humbled and thankful to have seen it today.

Monday, October 23, 2017

Crawling Through the Valley


If we look intently enough, we can always find something for which to be thankful, even in the darkest of circumstances. Evil is not absolute; it is not the opposite of Good. It is the perversion of it. So even if all we can see is dark and fearsome, we are only seeing the negation of the good that is prior to the evil. Popular wisdom has it that in every cloud there is a silver lining. It’s not as simple as that. Sometimes, we must settle for what Ann Voskamp calls the “hard eucharistos,” the difficult blessings; those experiences that painful as they are, can be the very instrument in God’s hand for the work he wants to do in us.

One of the reasons these experiences are so hard is that without outside influence, we have to come to the realization in ourselves that the difficulty or tragedy we are experiencing is God’s gift, molding us into his image. If someone else tells me that my pain is for my own good, the only thing I want to do is to turn the tables, give them some pain, and tell them it’s a blessing in disguise. For me to tell someone that their suffering is God’s gift is to do them a serious injustice. Platitudes have only the power to rub salt in the wound when someone is already suffering. In such times, it is better to be silent than to try to explain God’s ways. Job’s comforters actually helped when they sat with him in silence. It was when they opened their mouths that they got into trouble.

One of the hard gifts of grace tonight is standing on the sidelines watching people I love going through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. For some, it is a literal death they are staring in the face; for others, it is a shadow of darkness that has enveloped what were once bright dreams of ministry, service, and promise. Hope gives way to despair as friends struggle just to keep their heads above the flood that threatens to overwhelm them. And for me, there are no words I can offer that will make it all right, no strings I can pull to change their circumstances. The Psalmist doesn’t say, “IF” I go through the valley of the shadow of death; he says, “THOUGH” I go through it. Go through it, we will, sooner or later. And that valley is fearsome, populated by the fierce and vicious beasts of doubt, terror, loneliness, and despair. It swallows many a soul. 


If there is anything for which I can be thankful tonight, it is that although I haven’t trodden every dark path, I have walked through my own valleys of death, and though badly shaken, I have emerged on the other side where the Son still shines. I only hope that my experiences can be an encouragement to others as I do my best to come alongside as a vessel of the Holy Spirit, to lift, strengthen, and simply walk beside my brothers and sisters, sharing their tears, and offering my prayers to the God of all comfort, even Jesus Christ.

Sunday, October 22, 2017

October Warm

October 22, 2017

More than once on this date have I scraped the frost off the windshield in the morning. In our neck of the woods, as often as not, at least a dusting of snow sparkles in the early sunlight, glittering like diamonds on the lawn. The edges of the leaves on the ground are fringed in white, and crinkle under foot. It’s a glorious time of year, a time of fruition as the farmers are hastily working their fields, putting in the remainder of the summer’s corn for the winter. It’s been a dry autumn, which translates into hours saved, not having to pull tractors out of the mud. 

Hopefully, this week we can get in some of our winter’s wood, splitting and stacking it against those cold nights we know are coming. But tonight, after a busy weekend, I get to sit and drink in the beauty. It’s quiet here, with only the splashing of the creek and the rhythmic drone of the cicadas breaking the silence. The occasional car wends past the house, it's Doppler crescendo and decrescendo rising and fading in the distance. 

It was warm enough today to ride the bike to church, and to little Nathan’s birthday party. Rare are the times we’ve been able to celebrate his day in circled lawn chairs in the front yard. Seeing someone mowing their lawn in tee shirt and shorts may be a common October sight in Tallahassee, but here in Sinclairville, it grabs one’s attention.

Sitting on the back deck as the sun sets, I know that halfway around the world, people suffer hunger, persecution, illness and deprivation such as I have never known. Closer to home, someone will die tonight, a victim of violence, and others sit in silent vigil as a loved one slips into eternity. On city streets, young girls ply the trade, slaves to men who buy and sell them without conscience or pity. And in penthouses, politicos and CEOs make deals, buying and selling power and the lives of those whose voice has been silenced in backroom deals.

I am unable to do much about such things except to pray. At first glance, prayer seems like an exercise in futility, a cop-out. But God hears the cry of the poor, and though it may take more time than we prefer, evil has a way of devouring itself, and God will vindicate his own. So I pray. And I remember to give thanks for all I have received, knowing that God’s blessings are his undeserved gifts of grace, which I am duty bound to share as best I can.



Saturday, October 21, 2017

Memories


October 21, 2017

A friend commented on yesterday’s post, kindly telling me that my scribblings have been helpful to him. I appreciated his words of encouragement; such words are always welcome. Whether it’s sports, life, or literature, people need encouragement, and usually respond better to it than to criticism. My friend went on to say that he wondered if the date for the past couple days was “in honest error, or to weed out those who are truly paying attention or bold enough to point it out.”

I assured him that calendar dates are among the many things I easily lose track of. I just know I have that book I need somewhere in the boxes in the garage. Once I looked for days for my Go-Devil. For the uninitiated, it’s the size of a sledge hammer, not exactly the easiest thing to lose. Like the saying goes, “Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.” Yep. That’s me! Linda says that someday it will all pay off; every time we see each other it will be like our first date. 

Memories often haunt us. Most of us have had experiences we would prefer to forget, but trauma has a neurological effect on our brains that hardwires it into our memories. Years ago, I talked with a WWII vet who had been shot down over Europe and interned in a prisoner of war camp in Germany. Knowing how many Vietnam vets suffer from PTSD, I asked him about it. “We don’t hear much from you WWII vets. How did it affect you?” Fifty years after his imprisonment, he told me of his wife waking him up in the middle of the night as he thrashed around in a cold sweat. Many of his memories were frightful things. I’ve listened to countless similar stories from adults who had been abused as children, or from people who had drifted into depths of depravity from which they later emerged, but not without scars.

When John Newton, slave trader turned Christian minister and author of “Amazing Grace,” was an old man, he could often be found walking the streets of Bristol, England. People would stop to talk with this now famous man, who inevitably would tell them that in his later years he had forgotten many things, but two things he remembered well: “I was a great sinner, and Jesus is a great Savior.” 

A friend told me of a woman who was suffering from dementia. Her daughter would faithfully come to see her, even though her mother didn’t recognize her anymore. It made all the difference when her mother told her, “I don’t remember your name, but I know I love you.” 


Some day, our memories will be purged of all that gives us pain and grief. Our God who forgets our sins remembers us, and loves us. And we will love him completely when not only the sin that divides, but even the memories of it, are no more.

Friday, October 20, 2017

Dirt and Diamonds

October 21, 2017

It’s been awhile since the table was full, but tonight, not a single grandchild was missing. We even added a couple—Emmanuel and one of Jo’s diving teammates sat in wide-eyed amazement as after dinner we were entertained with loud and rousing choruses of various Veggie Tale songs, followed by dunking for apples. 

The meteor shower tonight is a wonder of Creation, Thousands, perhaps millions of people will stay up late to witness the dazzling light show. There may even be a few “ooh’s” and “ahh’s,” but in this household, there is no star show as glorious as what we experienced around the table tonight. 


In writer’s group this morning, we were talking about the discipline of writing. It isn’t as easy as it may appear. Sometimes it takes time to think of something worth putting into words and sentences. Sometimes, I have to stretch for it; if I wait for inspiration, it would be a long time between articles. I know not everything I write has value, but it’s like mining for diamonds; you have to move a lot of dirt to get to the ore. There’s a lot of dirt and precious few diamonds in these lines. Most of what I write is pretty localized, which is why I titled my blog “Refrigerator Word Art.” Like a kid’s pictures that grandparents proudly display on the refrigerator, they don’t mean much to anyone else, but maybe, just maybe, these words will cause you to pause, look at your own refrigerator, and give thanks for what is uniquely yours.

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Pinpricks of Glory

October 20, 2017

At 6:00 am, the stars were popping out of the blackness, pinpoints of light dotting the sky with their pointillist beauty. Thousands of years ago the psalmist sang, “When I consider the heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have ordained; what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man, that you visit him?” Elsewhere he asserts that “The heavens declare the glory of God.” That glory was on full display this morning.

There may be many benefits of living in the city, but one of the liabilities is the light pollution that prevents many moderns from seeing the stars as the ancients saw them. Walking out the front door this morning, once the streetlight was hidden behind the big Norway spruce, I got a glimpse of that ancient glory, and it was majestic!

Later in the day, he stormed into the place of business where I sat, waiting for the work to be done on my truck. He appeared about my age, with a shaggy mane of snow-white hair and beard to match, but he was definitely not jolly old St. Nick. The shop hadn’t done the job the way he wanted it done, and he didn’t miss too many words in his profanity dictionary letting the receptionist know what he thought. I’m not sure he could afford losing the piece of his mind he was giving her before turning his sights on the owner. He was met with undeserved grace. It’s sad for someone to have lived so long and not learned that kindness usually gets you farther than anger. The receptionist and I talked. It’s sadly, not an uncommon occurrence.

This evening, we drove into our driveway to be greeted by the Christmas lights I had hung earlier and set on a timer. After having had lunch with Alex and Emmanuel, and having cheered on three granddaughters in their final regular swim meet of the year, seeing the lights made her squeal like a little kid on Christmas morning. Linda is easy to please. 


It was an Oreo day, blessings on each end, with a sad reminder of our fallen humanity in the middle. The good is all around us, waiting to be noticed, if we only have eyes to see. My sight is dimmer than I would like, but the more we live in the Light, the better we see. Even those pinpricks of starlight bear twinkling testimony to God’s glory, for which I give thanks this evening.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Free

October 18, 2017

I’ve been reading through the prophet Isaiah in my morning devotionals. Sometimes I take two or three chapters at a time, but chapter 55 stopped me in my tracks. There’s so much here that it’s going to take me awhile to get through it all. It begins with these words: "Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.” 

What an invitation! Free dinner; it sounds like church! If you want a surefire way to gather a crowd, offer free stuff. The crowd may disappear once the stuff is gone, but you’ll have them at least until the dessert is served. It’s the Paretto Principle, otherwise known as the 20/80 rule. Twenty percent of the people do 80 percent of the work is the way the business world configures it. At church, it’s 20 percent of the people eat 80 percent of the church dinner. 

So, the text tells us that God invites us to a banquet, a common biblical image of the overflowing blessings offered to us. Jesus spoke of a banquet he has prepared for us in the heavenly kingdom. We are invited to come, but also to buy. But how can penniless people buy anything? If I have no money, it doesn’t matter how cheap the menu; I can’t afford to buy anything. So how do we buy when we have no money? It’s really quite simple: We offer ourselves in return for dinner. God sets a banquet of forgiveness, peace, joy, hope, freedom, strength, and companionship. All that was bought for us at the price of Christ’s blood on the cross. But there is also a price we pay. We have nothing to offer; our righteousness is, as Isaiah says elsewhere, like filthy rags. We are spiritually broke; in debt, even. We have nothing to offer. So we offer the only thing we have: ourselves. And God accepts it, not because we have anything of value, but because he values us. Now THAT is something for which to give thanks!



Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Small Things

October 17, 2017

It’s a small thing, really. After another busy day, Linda and I are sitting in the Millstone room, she watching her favorite tv show, and me writing. We gravitate to this room when we want to relax. The wood stove is still cold; as backup heat, we don’t need to fire it up quite yet, but the room is still a pleasant place to be. My usual evening drink is tea, or sometimes decaf coffee. I don’t like sugary drinks, so I don’t do the mochas and cappuccinos from Starbucks. Pour-over or a Quad espresso are just fine. 

Tonight, the air is crisp, the leaves littering the lawn. In a small window of down time this afternoon, Linda and I sat on the back deck watching the leaves float down the stream, drinking our coffee, and talking about our life together. It was a Hallmark movie time. Almost. Only it wasn’t cheesy. Apparently, we’ve aged considerably this past year. Used to be, we could drink coffee any time without losing sleep. Now, caffeine after six is a guaranteed sleepless night. So for the first time in at least a year, I mixed up a cup of sugary hot chocolate…just right!


After talking with a homeless man yesterday, small things like a cup of hot chocolate, sitting together on the deck or in our Millstone room, become treasures all the more precious by contrast. I am blessed beyond measure, and thankful for each one.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Homeless

October 15, 2017

This morning I woke up in a warm bed inside a warm bedroom. After a hot shower, I had a hot breakfast with Linda before heading to work. Since the thermometer was pegging around 45 degrees, I decided to drive the truck instead of my bike. When I arrived, people were already gathered, waiting in line for our Monday food pantry and clothing rack. Many of them are from the Puerto Rican community, and in the next few weeks, we expect many more as families arrive from the island following the hurricanes that devastated the island a few weeks ago. 

I try to make conversation with them, letting them know they aren't just numbers, trying to help them maintain what dignity they can while they are asking for help. One of them sat in the waiting area just basking in the warmth, something just an hour earlier I was taking for granted. It’s not easy for most people to ask for help. We don’t like to be dependent on others’ charity, so I try to make it a bit easier for them. I’ve taken to asking them for help. “I need to learn Spanish. Please speak to me in Spanish; just a simple sentence…SLOWLY.” They laugh and try to teach me. I forget easily, but bit by bit, I’m going to get it. And maybe along the way, they’ll get something too, from being on the giving side. It’s all about partnering together. Constantly being a recipient robs people of control and puts them in debt. Making them partners evens the playing field, maybe not much, but perhaps just enough that they will want to become partners in the great venture of following Jesus. I’m working on it; if someone even hints that they believe in God, I’m right there, asking them for help in designing a worship experience they can relate to. We have a long way to go, but we’re making a start.

Ben came into the office shortly before I was ready to leave for the day. Twenty one, tall and good-looking, he explained through tears that he was homeless, was bi-polar, and afraid that he will die when the weather turns cold. Right now, he’s squatting in someone’s barn, hiding the few possessions he has behind some boards, coming in late at night, and leaving before sunrise. He spoke of how when he was a kid, the only help he got for his condition was the drugs the doctors prescribed that left him like a zombie. He learned little, didn’t graduate, and has lost his Social Security card and birth certificate, and without a permanent address, can’t even apply for social services. 

I talked with him about Jesus’ ability to change his thinking, without which mere external help will only be temporary. He’s not ready to come to Christ, but allowed me to pray with him. What do you say to a young man who at twenty one has lost all hope? James says, “Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, "Go in peace; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?” 


Did I help, or hinder the Gospel today? We gave him some food and warm clothes, but I didn’t bring him home with me. Talking about Jesus’ love without doing something about his situation isn’t enough. I’m going to work on it tomorrow, but tonight, he’s sleeping in a cold barn somewhere outside of Dunkirk. I am thankful tonight for my warm home and bed, for a wife who loves me, children who are living responsibly, and for countless other blessings. But I know also that those blessings come with a price tag, and it’s called “responsibility.” I am my brother’s keeper, even though I often do a poor job of it. I hope tomorrow my gratitude can be turned into grace and giving in a more substantial way than I did today.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Fits Right

October 15, 2017

Grandma Helwig was right. Nearly fifty years ago when she first met Linda, she said she just knew Linda was the right girl for me. Although I don’t remember it, grandma said that once when I was a little boy, she took me shopping for a toy. I chose a firetruck, but not just any firetruck. Apparently, I tried them out one at a time, putting each one under my arm until I found the one that fit right. She took one look at Linda standing by my side and said, “She fits right, under your arm.” 

This afternoon, I was talking with a couple. He stands taller than I, while she is tiny. If he held his arm out parallel to the ground, she would fit easily under it, which made me think of grandma’s comment so many years ago. I’ve been away from Linda for three days; when I walked in the door this evening, we embraced, and she fit. Not just under my arm, but also in my heart.


Saturday, October 14, 2017

Sleep Tight


October 14, 2017

Psalm 127 is one of the shortest of the Psalms, consisting of only five verses, but touching upon three different subjects. It begins by talking about how God’s house is built not merely with human labor, but only with the Lord’s activity in the building. It ends with speaking about children being a gift from God, and how blessed is the man who has lots of them. Sandwiched between these two topics (which BTW, are related; the building of God’s house is never accomplished apart from the building of a godly family) is this solitary verse that seems to be a digression. Verse 2 says, “It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.” 

The connection between the first verse which talks about building God’s house, and the second which talks of sleep, may not be immediately apparent, but it is there. God’s house, and families, for that matter, are not well built by worry or even by long labor, but by trusting God enough to know when to call it quits for the day and simply get a good night’s rest. Those who study such things tell us that the average American is getting less sleep than previous generations. We thought labor-saving devices would give us more time for stuff we want to do, but apparently sleep is not one of them. If it isn’t worry keeping us awake, the advent of computers, smart phones, and tablets has countless numbers of us staring bleary-eyed at the dancing pixels into the wee hours of the morning. 

Christians often have felt that there is so much work to be done that we don’t have time for rest. We imagine that God cannot possibly survive without our efforts, our wisdom, our help. Sometimes, we just need to sleep, as Jesus did, even in the back of a storm-tossed boat filled with frightened disciples. Or Elijah, running for his life into the desert, where God twice tells him simply to take a nap. 


It has been a long and busy day following a late night. I don’t do late very well any more, and I am tired. It might seem more spiritual to read my Bible and pray, but I think right now, the most godly thing I can do is to turn out the lights and sleep, thankful that God will do just fine while I slumber. Another Psalm (121:4) says, “he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.” As long as God is going to stay awake, there’s no need for both of us to be up all night, so I’m going to bed. Goodnight.

Friday, October 13, 2017

Solitude

October 13, 2017

It’s quiet out back. The trees etch the sky with jagged tendrils that reach in vain for the clouds, while the geese honk their way from behind the brow of the hill across the road to the tree line opposite. Far above is the faint trail of an almost invisible jet. The leaves slowly twist their way through the air to join their companions that litter the deck and chairs and grass. A few land in the creek to float their way downstream where they will eventually sink to become one with the muck that feeds the cattails and arrowroot down at Redbird Corners.

Only a half dozen steps separate this little corner of solitude out back from the sounds of the road out front, the comings and goings of people who have places to go and things to do, while little thinking of why they are going and doing. A falling leaf doesn’t question why it tumbles through the air, and the creek bubbles and gurgles its way over the shale and gravel beds as it has done for perhaps thousands of years, insensate yet fulfilling a destiny written in gravity and hydrodynamics. The scene holds a beauty that cannot be fully expressed in words; it must be seen and smelled, felt on the skin, heard in the crinkly crackle of leaves and twigs underfoot. 


It was only a few moments snatched from the grasp of a busy day and full calendar, but when one stops completely enough, inhales deeply enough, looking and listening not only with eyes and ears, but also with the soul, those few moments yield nourishment that has its own unique satisfaction. The day is good, as is the God who brought it to me, and I give thanks.

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Morning Smiles

October 12, 2017

After the MRI this morning, Linda and I were ready for breakfast. She had had an English muffin and coffee before we left home at 6:00 am, but my instructions were clear: no food; just plenty of water. So we hit the Galleria Mall at 9:00. Of course, the stores weren’t open, but after a bit of walking, we did locate a Timmy Ho’s. There was a short line, but in a couple minutes we were at the counter, ordering. The young man on the other side had a big smile, and was bantering with the customers, expressing his hopes that the Bills would make it to the playoffs. He hadn’t seen them even close to the Super Bowl in his lifetime, and was hoping that he might, before he died. 

All the time, he was laughing and joking, making life a little better for those in line, who by the looks on most of their faces, weren’t too happy about going to work. One lady in particular, testy because she thought someone had cut into line ahead of her, took out her frustration on him. He took it all in stride. Her criticism dimmed the light in his eyes for a few moments, but before long, he was right back at it. 

On the way out, I tipped him, thanking him for making peoples’ mornings a bit better. It wasn’t much; it certainly won’t put him through school, but I hope he realizes the influence he is having on people, even if some of them don’t know it. It isn’t always the big things that make a difference; sometimes a kind word, or even a positive outlook can be just what someone needs when their own outlook has become overgrown with worries and cares. And maybe; just maybe even that grumpy woman will pause long enough to realize she has received grace, and be a better person for it. I hope that I will be, simply by witnessing it in the smile and joviality of a young man working for minimum wage at a fast-food coffee shop.


Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Give it Away


October 11, 2017

While working out this morning, I had T.D. Jakes on tv via the Youtube channel through Apple TV. If you have no idea what that sentence means, it’s OK; it just means that you are even less tech savvy than I am. Anyway, T.D. Jakes in the morning is a much better way to start the day than listening to the news, and I don’t actually have to see him to build my soul while I’m building my body.

If you’ve never listened to T.D. Jakes, you’re missing a real treat. That man can PREACH! In this morning’s sermon, he talked about giving. Quoting Malachi 3:10, he reminded us that God promises a blessing to those who tithe and give generously. He then said something I had never considered before. “When we’re poor, we give to have the blessing. When we’re rich, we give so the blessing doesn’t have us.” I have to chew on that for awhile, but I understand where he’s coming from. There was a time when we were barely making it financially, but we never missed our tithe. I’m not bragging; it’s how we were raised. I’ve talked incredulously with pastors who don’t tithe; how can they speak with integrity when they are clearly disobedient in this basic Christian discipline? I suspect that in many cases, it’s why their churches are failing.

Linda and I are at a point in our lives now where God’s blessing is overflowing. We aren’t rich by our society’s measurement, but we have all we need, and more. There is no way to explain it other than God honors those who even imperfectly, try to honor him. The second sentence of Jakes’ declaration is what is grabbing at my heart tonight. I give now so the blessing doesn’t have me. If I stop giving, or even if I fail to give proportionately to his blessing on me, the very things God has given can become a trap, holding me in a grip that is deadly tight. God is not afraid to bless those he can trust with wealth, but those folks are few in number. It is too easy for the stuff God has given to have such a grip on our hearts that we are unable to hear and follow the voice of the Master.

Years ago I heard a story about a wealthy man who lost his fortune in the Crash of 1929. He had been known for his generosity in giving to various charities and needy individuals. When asked if he regretted having given so much away that he had no cushion to carry him through, his response was, “What I gave away, I still have; what I kept, I lost forever.” 


Tonight I am thankful for the blessings we have been given, and for the even greater blessing of being able to give much of it away. If the day comes when God takes it all away, I hope I have the grace and wisdom to still praise him. But until then, the best way to show gratitude is to hold the blessings of this life with a gentle grip.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Hello Espanol!

October 10, 2017

It started out as a Swiss steak dinner, and ended as a Puerto Rican blessing. As a fund raiser, our congregation sponsors a monthly dinner with a different entree each time. Tonight’s was Swiss steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a choice of pies. For the good of everyone, I stayed out of the kitchen until it came time to clean up. Instead, I slowly wound my way between the tables, greeting people, making new friends. 

As we were wrapping up, one of the members approached and almost whispered, “There are some people looking over your motorcycle. Maybe you should check on them.” So I went out and as I was about to introduce myself, one of them, a young woman said, “You must be the new pastor! I just KNEW it as you came.” 

“Nuts!” I thought. If it’s that obvious, I must be doing something wrong. I introduced myself to the five of them, three women and two men, one of whom was Alberto Martinez, the pastor of the small Puerto Rican congregation that meets in the chapel of our church. Ten minutes later, I was “back in Cuba,” worshipping with my Dunkirk Hispanic brothers and sisters as they praised Jesus in a language both lyrical and strange to me, but familiar to God. 


When I was asked to do pulpit supply at the Dunkirk church, the tipping point that clinched my decision was that Dunkirk is almost 50% Puerto Rican, and the best way to learn Spanish for our Cuban mission work is to immerse myself as much as possible in the Hispanic community. Tonight, I was baptized in it, meeting brothers and sisters in Christ who are going to be my teachers as we worship and work together. God is good, and I am grateful!

Monday, October 9, 2017

More Than We Imagine

October 9, 2017

Too often we Christians have a truncated view of what God wants to do through us. We think of salvation as merely personal, overlooking the Scriptures that tell us of his overall plan to completely redeem the entirety of Creation (see Romans 8:19-23). We see the present evil more clearly than we do God’s vision of a new heavens and a new earth. Sometimes our theology sabotages us. We believe in Augustine’s Original Sin while failing to see that sin isn’t original at all; it is an interloper that invaded all that God created and called good. Years ago, I heard someone say, “I’m just a sinner saved by grace.” There was great truth in that statement, but also great danger. If we see ourselves primarily as sinners, the grace part of it becomes almost an afterthought or a footnote to the narrative of our lives. 

When Jesus told the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15), he said something interesting that we often miss, especially if we use one or more of the modern translations. The old King James Version has the translation spot-on. In Luke 15:17, Jesus tells us that there was a moment in time when this young man “came to himself.” He didn’t say (as some of the modern translations have it) that he came to his senses. In telling us literally that “he came to himself,” Jesus is paying us a great compliment. He is saying that we are our truest selves when we realize that our wandering doesn’t define us; our longing for home does. When we allow our sin to define us, we are believing what the devil says about us more than what God says about us.

In Isaiah 51: 16, God says, 

“I have put my words in your mouth;
I have covered you with the shadow of my hand,’
That I may plant the heavens, 
Lay the foundations of the earth,
And say to Zion, ‘You are my people.’”


God puts his words in our mouths, shelters us with his hand, not merely for our own benefit, but to accomplish great things through us. The Revelation of St. John shows us the vision God has for a new heavens and earth. What Isaiah tells us us that he wants to use us to accomplish this. “All things new” is the promise of salvation. God’s people are the means of it. That is Good News; something for which to be thankful tonight.