2019

December 31, 2018

Sometimes the thoughts just don’t come on demand. I wish I had something wise and wonderful to say, but my mind is a blank. As 2018 closes, I can say one thing with certainty—God has blessed, and continues to bless me far more than I deserve. Grace surrounds me, before me, beside me, behind me. I said ‘yes’ to a second year pastoring in Dunkirk, and have received far more than I gave. We were able to add the downstairs bedroom that we trust will serve us well when climbing the stairs becomes a challenge. Another mission trip to Cuba, a second granddaughter in college, and family that continues to fill our time and our hearts. 

Counting one’s blessings is far more satisfying than recounting one’s ills and gripes. I saw a cartoon recently of someone on their knees with a trowel and a packet of seeds. When asked what the new year would bring, he responded. “Flowers.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Because I’m planting flowers.” 

I don’t know all that 2019 will bring. Listening to the pundits and media, I would believe it will be nothing but trouble. It’s possible, but politicians and media people thrive on bad news. It’s their bread and butter. Without it, they would be out of work. So I’m going to take much of what they say with a grain of salt. It’s biased, leaning heavily towards trouble and tragedy. Instead, I plan to face tomorrow with confidence and faith that the God who created us and the Christ who redeemed us will, by the power of the Holy Spirit, sustain us. And for that, I already give thanks.

The Terror of the Lord

December 30, 2018

“Knowing the terror of the Lord, we persuade men...” (2 Corinthians 5:11). Strange words, indeed, from the mouth of the apostle Paul. At first glance, he sounds like an old time pulpit pounder thundering fire and brimstone on his hapless listeners, but as I recently read this once more, I came away with an entirely different opinion. I don’t think Paul is here using these words to convince unbelievers to repent, but instead, to spur himself on to greater effort on behalf of those to whom he was sent.

With his own rather sordid record of having persecuted the earthly Christians, imprisoning some, even sending others to their death. I suspect that his conversion on the Jericho road was pretty traumatic as he is so blinded by a bright light (it sounds to me almost like the blinding light from a nuclear explosion) that his eyes are literally burnt to the point where he suffers for the rest of his life with vision problems (Galatians 4:15). He sees himself as “the worst of all sinners,” and is fully convinced of the fate that had awaited him had he not turned to Christ. 

His motive for preaching is the love of Christ (2 Corinthians 5:14); he is as he says, “compelled” by that love. Now, if there is no judgment to come, why is preaching the Gospel so compelling for him? If everything comes out all right in the end, there is nothing to worry about; everyone will be OK. But Paul is haunted by how close to the edge he had come, and is horrified at the thought that others should plunge through the guardrail that had saved him from his own destruction. The terror of the Lord is what he wants to save people from. The great love of Christ gives him the motivation to keep pushing on when others would have quit.

One of the problems of the Church today is that we have lost sight of eternity. When all we see is what is around us, we either get discouraged or complacent. Discouraged with the state of things; complacent because we don’t really believe in much past the grave, with the result being our discouragement rules the day. If there is no great danger, there can be no great salvation. 

It’s not a matter of scaring or threatening anyone into heaven. That rarely works. It is a matter of doing everything in our power, with both word and deed, to open people’s eyes to the great love of Christ. But before that can happen, we ourselves need to see it, and the greatness of it is only clearly seen against the backdrop of our predicament. I know full well that from which I have been delivered, which is why I keep doing what I do. I don’t want anyone whom God places in my life to be able to say I didn’t love them enough to offer them Christ. That’s as close to a New Year’s resolution as I’ll probably ever get, and I’m thankful tonight it is fully attainable through the power of the Holy Spirit.

Busy

December 29, 2018

“I can’t see to read, am too weak to do much more than sit in this chair. By the time I get dressed in the morning, I’m tired out and have to sit down.” The litany goes on matter-of-factly, uncomplaining. It’s her honest statement of what life has become at 96. Our visits tire her out, but I think she looks forward to them and to our phone calls, just to break the monotony. 

I look at the photos in her album; her smiling sweetly into the camera on her wedding day, while dad in his uniform looks at her adoringly. Young, slender, and supple, neither of them could have imagined being old, bent over, weak, and tired, yet that is what the years brought the both of them. Dad passed away six years ago, agile in mind, but not in body. Mom is traveling down that same path, sharp and quick of wit while everything else slows to a snail’s pace.

Today was the first day since I don’t know when that there wasn’t a half dozen things scheduled. It was completely blank—wide open. We slept in till nearly 8:00, had breakfast, went to town to exchange a Christmas gift, and came home. Linda read while I cleaned out some files. I did a bit of reading, we watched a show on television, and it’s still only 8:00. 

I can’t imagine life without something needing to be done. It’s no wonder people die soon after retirement if they don’t have something to live for. I liked retirement, but by the third year, had just about finished all the projects that had been piling up, waiting for “that day.” There are times I wouldn’t mind if things slowed down just a bit, but I have friends who don’t see another human being from one day to another and struggle to find significance in the time they continue to be given. I am grateful tonight that this wide open, unstructured day is but one day, and that tomorrow the schedule will pick back up. I like my alone and quiet time, but busy is good. Very good.

A Simple Question

December 28, 2018

Funny how a seemingly innocuous question can change the whole trajectory of one’s life. “Would you be available to fill in for a Sunday?” That was all there was to it. I was retired and presumably available, and the church needed someone to preach for a couple Sundays in July. Turned out, they needed more than that. I offered to stay till the end of August to give the DS time to find a more permanent solution, and as they say, the rest is history.

Returning to regular pastoral ministry was not on my bucket list. The Sunday I retired, I actually physically felt the weight of responsibility lift from my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized I was carrying it until it disappeared in the blink of an eye, but it took three years for me to really unwind. Then I got the call. 

At first, I knew what needed to be done. The congregation was demoralized by what had happened to them; they needed hope. Hopelessness is usually fatal, so it was imperative that they knew God still had plans for them. It took a full year, but I knew hope had returned when at the centennial celebration in the park, I overheard one member talking to another, “Next year when we do this...” The seeds of hope had begun to sprout in their hearts. What I wasn’t prepared for was the seeds of love sprouting in mine. The more I got to know them, the more they wriggled and wormed their way into my heart. I think it is a conspiracy. 

Today, Linda and I hosted a luncheon for them. The congregation is a convenient size. We couldn’t invite the Park congregation for a luncheon unless we were able to cough up a couple thousand dollars and set up a party tent in the side lawn. But when the congregation averages 20-30 on a Sunday, we knew it would be a piece of cake. After all, we regularly have 18-22 for Sunday dinners! 

So my Dunkirk church family sat around our tables, chatting, laughing, enjoying the meal we set for them, served by three of our granddaughters who also sang and played for them. They got to see where and how we live as we opened our home as well as our hearts. And so it comes full circle. Where at first we were like boxers in a ring, circling each other, sizing each other up, now that ring is a family circle binding us together in Christ. It was an innocuous question, but it changed everything. God is at work, and bit by bit, we’re clawing our way back. I’m looking forward to the day when the congregation no longer can fit around two tables in our home, but instead requires the same party tent Park uses. That day is coming. I want to see it, and thank God for it. In advance.

Precious Memories

December 27, 2018

Today’s newspaper headlined an article about a local family who just after Christmas lost their home and everything in it to a fire. The mother had been sleeping on the couch and woke to see flames climbing the wall behind the wood stove, engulfing the second floor before she could get to the pets upstairs. Having lost everything, she was thankful that her children had stayed the night at her mother’s after Christmas instead of sleeping in their upstairs bedrooms. 

I’ve been thinking about losing everything. Mother Teresa once said, “You don’t really know Jesus is all you need until Jesus is all you have.” I believe Jesus is all I need, but I’ve never been tested as this mother was, so my knowledge is theoretical more than experiential. I’ve known many people who don’t possess a single item passed down from parents or grandparents; nothing to connect them with their past other than their memories. 

Linda and I spent the day with my 96 year old mother. We had planned on seeing her before Christmas, but had been exposed to the flu, and thought better of it. When we called to let her know we wouldn’t be coming, we learned she hadn’t been feeling well, so it all worked out. In more ways than one.

She wanted her bed moved, so my brother, Linda, and I tackled the job which entailed pulling some boxes out from under it, which my sister did. “Bring them into the living room,” mom ordered. “Some of grandma’s pictures are in it. I want you kids to take what you want.” These are no ordinary pictures. My grandmother was an amateur artist, and these were drawings and paintings she had done, dating back to the turn of the last century. Some were childhood drawings pressed in a sketchbook, while others were scenes she painted as late as the 60’s. The earliest dated sketch was from 1907 when she was fifteen.

How do you explain the connection with one’s own history brought to life by century-old drawings? Mere paper and pencil breathes life to my soul as I remember this diminutive little woman I called grandma who breathed her own life through her fingers onto those sketchbook pages more than a hundred years ago. Those tangible connections so many people have never had, I have never lost. I am blessed by these fragile papers and the memories they resurrect, and thank God for this priceless gift tonight.

December 26, 2018

The Revelation of St. John the Divine begins with a spectacular description of Jesus Christ, our risen Lord, who walks among the seven churches of Asia Minor, representative of all congregations everywhere. Each is described with details pertaining to their respective local situations, commended or condemned for faithfulness or failures. The churches run the gamut from one that receives no condemnation at all, to one that hears almost nothing but. 

What strikes me about this scene is Jesus’ refusal to disown even the worst of the churches. In spite of his condemnation, he continues to walk among them, holding their leaders in his hand. We tend to put people and organizations on a continuum, setting boundaries beyond which we write people off as apostate, irredeemable. Even when condemning untoward behaviors and beliefs, he continues to walk among the churches.

No matter how bad a given church may be, Jesus still walks amongst us, claiming us all, refusing to reject even the most dissolute, heretical ones. Judgment is coming, but in the meantime, Jesus still strides alongside his people. I am grateful tonight for his refusal to write us off. He continues to walk among his churches, good and bad alike, which means there is still hope for even the worst of us. It began with a baby whose birth we celebrated yesterday, but the story isn’t over yet. We get to live in hope!

Luke 6:38

December 25, 2018

I’m always playing catch-up. After three attempts, I finally was able to procure that special Christmas gift for Linda that had eluded me for so long. Her entry room bench now sits firmly ensconced in that 20 inches just inside our bedroom door. Linda is easy to please (after all, she settled for me), but it feels good to have found that one special gift that she loves.

I, on the other hand, am a bit harder to buy for. There’s not much these days that catches my eye, and almost nothing I need. Last fall for example, when we had stopped at Ron’s, our antique store friend, and saw a cider press, I got excited. For years I’ve wanted to be able to press cider, but finding a working press is next to impossible unless one owns a golden goose. Linda asked Ron about it, but was told that it had been sold. She later told me that she had hoped to get it as a Christmas gift, and was disappointed at being unable to do so. That was the last of it. 

One day as we were driving somewhere, I casually mentioned to Linda that one thing I’d really like for Christmas was some time in a studio to professionally produce a recording of some of the songs I’ve written. Since I don’t actually write music, the melodies are only in my head, and I’ve wanted for years to be able to preserve them for the family. 

Imagine my delight when last night the kids presented me with a gift certificate for time in a local studio, and then this morning when that cider press showed up in our entry room! Neither gift had I even remotely expected. The kids all chipped in for the studio, and daughter Jess researched different ones in the area, choosing one that has been used by some top name groups. Apparently the fellow who had bought the cider press never actually put down the cash, so Ron called Linda and told her it was available. 

So as I said, I’m always playing catch up. No matter how much I try to be on the giving side, it keeps coming back, as Scripture says, “pressed down, shaken together, and running over.” Even in the giving, I have received more than I gave. Whatever dollar amount lay scattered across the room, it was paltry in comparison with the pleasure of seeing the smiles and hearing the squeals of delight. Generosity is in some ways, a pretty selfish thing. You give, and even more comes back. Not necessarily in dollars and cents, but in love and satisfaction.

This morning as I looked around the living room filled with our kids and grandkids feverishly opening their gifts, I felt an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude for being able to give generously, blessing those we love. It was like waves of satisfaction undulating over me as I surveyed the chaos before me. I wonder if God feels the same way when we receive his generosity with gratitude? I can almost see him scanning the world with that same joy that I felt as he sees his children enjoying his generosity, delighted to be able to pour out his blessings upon them. I hope that what he has poured into me will come back to him “pressed down, shaken together, and running over.”

Bassically Christmas Eve

December 24, 2018

Pastoring in Dunkirk for the past year and a half, I’ve had to take my leave from the Park church worship team. Tonight, I had the privilege of joining them again for the 11:00 pm Christmas Eve candlelight service, playing my bass. The service was moving, with Scripture interspersed with congregational singing led by the worship team. Pastor Joe spoke with passion and clarity about the reason Jesus was born that first Christmas so many years ago, speaking persuasively of our need for a Savior. 

It’s difficult for me to tell whether I was moved by the service itself or merely the fact that I had the joy of once more being a part of the worship team. Son Nate, daughter Jessie, good friend Bri, and granddaughter Alex led in glorious and harmonious worship, while Nate played guitar and Alex keyboard, and I plied the bass with basic patterns and simple runs. It’s been too long since I’ve had this privilege which I’m sure blessed me more than it blessed anyone else. Applying one’s gifts, however limited they may be, always brings with it deep satisfaction when offered in service to God. I am grateful tonight for this privilege. It was a good way to usher in Christmas Day.

Giving

December 23, 2018

They were all so grateful. Last Wednesday the women and men of our Dunkirk Willow Mission spent the morning giving out Christmas gifts and the fixings for a Christmas dinner, including full shank hams. People down on their luck, some who have never known anything but poverty, they came, white, black, Hispanic. With my mediocre Spanish and Myrta, our good translator, we were able to bless our guests with words as well as food and gifts. 

Every single person offered their thanks, but it is we who should thank them. It isn’t easy receiving charity. Most of our Christmas giving is merely swapping. We give to people who give in return, trying to keep the equation. But the Bible tells us to give to those who cannot repay you, without thought of return. The problem with that is the imbalance of relationship that occurs, which is why the receiving of charity can be so difficult. Those receiving can feel indebted, and that isn’t a good feeling for anyone. Perhaps it’s why when we loan money to friends, they often start to drift away. It’s easier than facing the feeling of inferiority that imbalance produces.

The unfettered gratitude of those who filed through the church last Wednesday was humbling for me. It is, as Jesus said, better to give than receive. I’ve been on both ends of the exchange, and I much prefer the giving side. I am grateful tonight not only to be able to swap gifts with those I love and know, but to also be able to give to those with whom I only have a passing acquaintance. It is my hope and prayer that through giving, we’ll have the opportunity to share with people the greatest Gift of all—Jesus Christ whose birth we celebrate with our giving.

Promises

December 22, 2018

Christmas is fast approaching with all its promise of peace and joy heralding its soon arrival. School winter concerts, extra church doings, digging out the decorations, shopping, wrapping, setting up the tree; we’ve been busy. Sometimes perhaps a bit too busy.  Every Hallmark movie, every Christmas special purports to know and proclaim the “real meaning of Christmas,” somehow never remembering the One whose birth it celebrates. The old “Charlie Brown Christmas” at least had Linus reciting the Christmas story from Luke 2, but apparently, it’s a bit too offensive for our modern sensitivities.

I have no beef with the goodhearted programming, even if it falls far wide of the mark when it comes to the real meaning of Christmas. I’ve long ago given up any illusion that this world has even the ability, let alone the desire to promote a Christian message. That would be like the Ford dealership promoting Toyotas. It’s not in their interest to do so. 

What bothers me is how even I get sucked into a holiday mood that will vanish like Dracula in the morning sun on Christmas afternoon. When the roots are shallow, it’s unreasonable to expect the fruit to withstand even the slightest wind of adversity, even though it’s probably just human nature to want to feel all warm and cozy inside. I’d like to think the Christmas feeling has substance, but whenever I try to get my hands on it, it disappears, only to pop up enticingly somewhere else.

Jesus wasn’t born into a Hallmark world. Abject poverty, hunted from birth by Herod, a most ruthless and murderous man, refugee in another country when barely out of diapers, only to be falsely accused, betrayed, abandoned, and crucified some thirty years later. And yet, from the bowels of such a dog-eat-dog world, he told his followers, “Peace I leave with you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Don’t let your heart be afraid.” Jesus was no romantic. Both feet were firmly planted in the cruel reality of this world right up to the day they were nailed to it on Golgotha’s hill. His is no cozy, cuddly peace, but the deep assurance that despite the violence and troubles of this life, God has not abandoned us, and will in fact vindicate his saints.

I’m actually thankful the promises of this world come up empty. When they do, they serve to remind me to look for the promises that never run out, and to drink deeply from the well that never runs dry. To do so, I have to slow down so I can pay attention. God often whispers, and it’s not only my flesh and blood ears that have a hard time hearing. But hear they must, and hear they will. My life depends on it.

Sir Christopher Jiggs

December 21, 2018

Christmas caroling in the rain. You gotta love it. Apparently, Linda does, because that’s exactly what we did tonight in spite of her assurances that if it rained, the caroling would be called off. Fortunately, I was wearing my Carhartts and fedora, so the rain and I never actually met up close and personal. The grandkids did a great job, and if the candy and cookies we received are any indication, everyone was appreciative of our efforts.

Caroling has fallen out of style, it seems. Twenty years ago, our church would field a team of sometimes thirty people who trudged through snow and cold to sing to their neighbors. Not anymore. I must confess I groused a bit about singing in the rain. I liked it better when Gene Kelly did it. Linda insisted, and we had a good time. She makes me better than I am.

So did Sir Christopher Jiggs. When I was growing up, Christmas Eve was always spent at our cousins’ home in Canadaigua, NY. It was always a special event for us. Uncle Ray had this huge electric train set that ran around under the tree. I don’t know what gauge it was, but it was big enough that we kids could have ridden it. And the bubble lights! Our tree was festooned with the ordinary colored lights that everyone had. But they had bubble lights! 

We always arrived in late afternoon and feasted on Aunt Marion’s lasagna before bundling up to go caroling. We had perhaps 45 minutes to wait while Uncle Ray took our cousins to Christmas Eve Mass at the big Catholic Church at the end of their street. The Baileys weren’t much for church at the time, so this was a minor annoyance as we were itching to get out for the caroling. 

My cousins lived on a cul de sac at the top of a hill overlooking the village, a street of perhaps a dozen houses. We hit the house next door first, and when we were done, they joined the chorus at the next house. So it went, up one side of the street and down the other, cajoling and adding singers at each house till the entire neighborhood had joined in the festivities. About a third of the way back down the other side of the street, Sir Christopher Jiggs would always join us, his penetrating baritone ringing out over the rest of our voices. No matter that he was just a basset hound. He loved the singing, and joined in lustily. When we finally got to the end, having gone up one side and down the other, we plowed through whatever snow had accumulated on the hillside to get to the Witherspoons in the big house at the bottom of the hill, where we would be treated to hot chocolate and cider and cookies. We would gather around the grand piano in the parlor and sing once more before hiking back up the hill to our homes. 

Caroling like that is just a memory anymore, but it is kindled anew when we take the grandkids out around the village. We don’t get to as many homes these days and my aunt and uncle and that neighborhood are long gone. But when we sing, in my mind we are gathering up the tradition of caroling long ago, joining our voices in the same familiar songs, and if I listen carefully, I can hear the joyful baying of Sir Christopher Jiggs leading the chorus.

Staying Young

December 20, 2018

Some things are just better with kids. A few days ago, I wrote about my quest for Linda’s Christmas gift, which I was finally able to procure this past Saturday. It’s an actual entry room bench seat with an umbrella stand, or at least part of one. The bottom piece is missing, but the loop that holds the umbrellas in place was still attached. It needed more than a mere cleaning, so for the past three days, I’ve been applying chemical stripper and attacking it with rubber gloves and steel wool. Today it was ready for the varnish.

Our granddaughters Eliza and Gemma don’t like to sit around doing nothing more than watching TV. Their mother told me a few days ago that Eliza had been asking since November when she could start wrapping Christmas gifts. At the time, Jessie didn’t have any ready, so Lizey had to wait. When Jess was finally ready, Eliza was rarin’ to go, and had them wrapped up in no time. “Do you have any more?” she asked her mother. Jessie didn’t, but I did. Monday after dinner, I dropped off a box full of presents. Before I got home from men’s group that evening, I had a text message telling me they were all done. 

A couple years ago, Eliza’s little sister Gemma helped me refinish a grandfather clock. The other day, she asked if I had any more clocks to work on. “No clocks, but I have a bench that’s going to need some work,” I replied. So after school, Linda picked her up so she could help. She jumped right in and carefully followed my instructions to varnish with the grain of the wood, doing a capital job of it. First coat is done, Gemma stayed for dinner, and after playing Jingle Bells on the piano and reading three Christmas picture books to me, is sitting on the floor playing Peter Rabbit (a fancy version of Chutes & Ladders) with Linda. When they’re done, Gemma will jump up, ready for the next adventure. Linda, not so much. Jumping, that is. Both of us however, will leap for joy in our hearts for the privilege of building into the lives of our grandchildren. The only downside to an evening with Gemma is that my attention span isn’t what it used to be. I’ll concentrate real hard. With effort, I may be able to catch up with her before the evening’s over. Who am I kidding? Probably not.

When her parents came to pick her up, Jessie laughed her way into the back room where I was writing. She loved my redneck Christmas wreath! Linda had been quite patient with my motorcycle tire in the dining room warming up so I could mount it on my bike, but she did make a passing comment on it this morning, so while she was out grocery shopping, I decided to dress things up a bit for the holidays. I think it’s quite nice, actually, and am thankful that my wife has a good sense of humor.

No Angels’ Song

December 19, 2018

Fifty years on, I can still see him in my mind’s eye, leaning over the pulpit, dark wavy hair, square face, holding 3X5 cards as he sang. Unfortunately, I can’t recall his name, but his beautiful tenor voice rang clearly throughout the sanctuary. There were only two songs in his repertoire, and only one which I can recall. To this day, I can sing it from memory—not bad for someone who can’t even remember the lyrics to songs he has written.

“There is singing up in heaven such as we have never known,

Where the angels sing the glories of the Lamb upon his throne.

Their harps are ever tuneful, and their voices strong and clear;

O that we could be more like them as we serve the Master here.

Holy, Holy, is what the angels sing

And I expect to help them make the courts of heaven ring

But when I sing redemption’s story

They will fold their wings

For angels never knew the joys

That our salvation brings.”

The letter to the Hebrews tells us that angels longed to merely get a glimpse of the salvation which has been so freely given to us. They may be enjoying the wonders of heaven, bowing in worship before the throne of God Almighty, but if our salvation is truly the heart of God’s eternal plan, never having sinned, they never enjoy the wonders of redemption.

If however, we read the Scriptures carefully, it’s an even more amazing story. Angels stand continually before the throne of God, ready to do his bidding at a moment’s notice. They shout and praise and worship, but nowhere in Scripture is it recorded that they sing. What is there for them to sing about if they have never known what it means to have sins forgiven, deliverance from bondage, healing of our brokenness? The only song in heaven is the song of the redeemed, and that angels cannot sing. We however, can...and will. And for that, I give thanks tonight.

The Center

December 18, 2018

“So, my dear Christian friends, companions in following this call to the heights, take a good hard look at Jesus. He’s the centerpiece of everything we believe.”

Hebrews 3:1MSG

“Take a good hard look at Jesus; he’s the centerpiece.” There is no better summary of the Christian life than this. Everything God does points to Christ, comes through Christ. People often talk about the “key” to Christian living as if success were found in this or that magic formula. I’ve read books and listened to preachers who reduce Christianity to a set of rules that if followed, guarantee happiness and success. Christian faith becomes more a matter of pop psychology than an encounter with the Divine. In reality, the sole challenge and focus of Christian living is keeping Jesus Christ at the center. 

We often act as if he is the icing on the cake instead of the Main Course. Our religion is often a veneer covering our self-centeredness with respectability. We look good, but it’s all on the surface. However, if we want to reach the heights, as the text says, keeping our eyes on Jesus is crucial. It’s almost like driving a car. If you don’t want to end up in a ditch, you keep your eyes on the road. It is absolutely crucial to do so.

It’s when we fail to do this that we get into trouble. I cannot think of a single instance of messing up that didn’t follow from taking my eyes off Christ. Remembering that he is the Centerpiece of my faith and keeping my eyes on him make all the difference between sin and salvation, sorrow and joy. I don’t do as well at it as I should, but Scriptures like this serve as a reminder to keep the Main Thing the Main Thing, bringing me back to the Center where I belong. 

Eliza

December 17, 2018

“She’s been asking if there are any more gifts to wrap.” 

“Really?” I exclaimed. This was going to be my lucky day! Usually by this time of the month, I have had Linda’s Christmas gifts long since wrapped and under the tree, but time and temperament have finally joined hands and caught me in their web. I wrote about the “two strikes” Christmas gifts that didn’t make the cut this year. The church pew  she wanted me to cut to size for just inside our bedroom door—you know, that pew that no matter what I did was still going to be too big for the spot. I suppose we could have rebuilt the closet to accommodate those last two inches, but that idea seemed a little extreme. 

So the little cabinet I inherited from my sister became my next choice. It fit perfectly, but Linda claimed it for another room before I could finish rebuilding it. Strike two! Last Saturday after Izzi and Jo’s basketball game, we took a little run to my friend Ron’s to see if he had any antique drawer pulls for the erstwhile Christmas cabinet. While Linda fetched Ron from his main building, I wandered out to where he kept the bigger items, and one of the first things I stumbled into was an entryway bench seat that sizing it up by eyeball, looked to be just right. I literally ran out the door and meet Ron and Linda walking my way.

“Ron, do you have a tape measure?” I asked, almost out of breath. 

“I can get one,” he replied as he turned back to his main building. A minute later, he was back, tape in hand. I took it and quickly measured the bench. It was a perfect fit! 

“I’ll take it!” I said, reaching for my wallet. We hadn’t even begun to look for the drawer pulls, but Ron had said he knew he had some hanging around somewhere, and with a bit of digging, he produced a zip lock bag full. I asked him the price, and ended up taking the entire bag. I’ll have a few extras perhaps for a later project. 

Yesterday I picked up the bench on the way home from preaching in Dunkirk, and now have only to strip and refinish it. I wonder if I can get it done by Christmas? The long and short of it is, there is no way I can possibly manage if I also have to wrap Linda’s other gifts. Enter Eliza, who loves wrapping so much she would do it for free, even though it’s well worth it to pay her for her work. They’ll probably look much better than mine, to boot.

In the great scheme of things, finding this bench or having Eliza wrap my gifts are not big ticket items. There are much more significant issues abroad. But I am discovering that most of our lives are lived close to home, and it’s the little things that mean a lot. So tonight I am grateful to have found the one special gift I’ve been looking for, and for one special granddaughter who is making it possible to give that present on Christmas Day. Maybe.

Todd

December 16, 2018

His prayer was heartfelt, spontaneous, and eloquent. Such prayers spring from the soil of devotion, hours invested in prayer and study of the Scriptures, of worship in solitude and in the congregation. I wish I could remember the details, but what I do recall is a blessing not only for the things of this world, but even more for her to grow in grace, love, and faith in Jesus Christ. Words directed to our Heavenly Father we overheard as he blessed his daughter for her birthday.

Tonight I am thankful for my son in law who held our littlest granddaughter in his arms as he held her before God in prayer. That prayer was the fruit of many prayers offered in the quiet of his own devotion, and but a part of the faith to which he bears witness to his family and to the world every day in word and deed. Eighteen years ago I entrusted my only daughter into his care, knowing he could never love her as I do, but knowing also that his love was what she longed for and needed. That love and faith has remained and grown stronger and deeper in the ensuing years. As with any love, it has met challenges and trials, but has emerged shining like diamonds sparkling in the sun. 

Linda and I are the recipients of blessings far beyond our deserving, with children and their spouses who are raising our grandchildren to acknowledge and love the Lord Jesus Christ, a blessing many grandparents do not have the privilege of knowing. Tonight, it is Todd whose prayer commands my admiration and respect because it reflects a heart given to Christ and a life offered to his family, and God himself who owns my praise and gratitude for his work of grace in Todd’s life which blesses my daughter, our grandchildren, and us.

First Things First

December 15, 2018

“The first thing I want you to do is pray. Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know. —1 Timothy 2:1-3 MSG

“Since prayer is at the bottom of all this, what I want mostly is for men to pray—not shaking angry fists at enemies but raising holy hands to God.   —1 Timothy 2:8-10 MSG

Prayer is at the heart of all God wants to do through us. It’s the first and most important part of anything we do for him. I work hard at my job. I prepare as best I can for preaching, studying, thinking, writing. And praying. But I often step into the pulpit with this nagging thought that of all the preparation, I didn’t do enough praying, asking for God to intervene specifically in the lives of those listening. 

General prayers receive general answers. Our prayers are often so general we wouldn’t be able to tell whether or not they are answered. Paul tells his young protege Timothy that the most important thing he can do is to pray. It’s the first thing...and the last thing. So tonight as I review for tomorrow’s worship, I’ll pray. Specifically. By name, one by one, thanking God for them, asking that the Word will accomplish his purposes in their lives for the sake of his Name.

Little things

December 14, 2018

It’s the little things that often make a big difference. For instance, there is a big difference between lightning and lightning bug, and a comma is all that differentiates “Let’s eat, grandma!” from “Let’s eat grandma!” A few weeks ago I was regaled with the advantages of having a front-mounted hydraulic-driven plow on a tractor, so I started looking around and found one for a John Deere on Craig’s List. 

I emailed and texted the owner to find out what model tractor it had been mounted on, then called our local John Deere dealer to make sure it would fit mine. Here’s where the little things came into play. “Will this work on my 1026R?” I asked. 

Pay attention now. “It should,” he answered. Ah...that little word “should.” I “should” have waited until that “should” changed to “would.” Unfortunately, I was a bit too hasty, and shelled out a fair amount of cash for a plow that won’t mount to my tractor without buying a new quick hitch to the tune of about $750. Tonight, I listed the plow and quick hitch on Craig’s List for less than I paid for it. That single word “should” cost me a pretty penny!

“Do you love me?” Jesus asked his disciples (and those of us who read his words). He didn’t ask if we admire, like, respect, obey, or believe in him. All those words are important, but he used that little word, “love.” He isn’t talking about feelings here; he describes what he means when he went on to say, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” When Jesus asks if we love him, he is inquiring about our willingness to sacrifice for him, to deny ourselves, release to him our plans, hopes and dreams, in a totally unbridled commitment to him. 

I can like Jesus, admire him, even do the things he commands, but if love isn’t behind it all, it has no value. Little things mean a lot, so I’m grateful tonight for that little word “should” that cost me dearly but also taught me to pay attention to even the small things Jesus says. 

Perseverance

December 13, 2018

Failure is only failure if we let it stop us. The back wall of our Dunkirk church has issues. As near as we can figure, a plugged eavestrough and drain caused water to back up and seep through the masonry. The paint has peeled and the plaster cracked. The remaining plaster is plagued with bloom, a dusty residue that keeps forming as the moisture works its way through. 

We bought sealer and I’ve scraped that wall dozens of times. It feels dry to the touch, so today I decided to try the sealer, starting with brushing the trim. So far, so good. I dipped the roller into the sealer I had poured into the tray, and started on the wall. I don’t know what is in that sealer, but as soon as I rolled it over the painted area, the paint softened and peeled off in sheets. 

I’m not sure what to do next, but I’m not about to let an inert wall defeat me. It doesn’t look like it’ll be done for Christmas as I had hoped, but someone somewhere knows a lot more about masonry than I do, and is going to help us lick that wall. I’ve been a pastor for nearly 50 years, so I know a thing or two about perseverance. You don’t need a lot of talent if you just don’t quit. That back wall is an object lesson in church life. The problem you see isn’t always the real problem, and the solution you find isn’t always the real solution, but if you don’t quit, you can often fix even the most stubborn problems. I don’t know any more about what is needed to grow that congregation than I do about how to fix that wall, but I’ll find someone who knows, and when I do, this congregation will be whole and strong again, just like that wall will be. It will just take time and perseverance. I don’t know how much of the former I have, but I know I have enough of the latter, for which I am thankful tonight. 

Citizenship

December 12, 2018

Today was a new beginning for 69 people in Columbus, Ohio. My friend Harry and I met with about twenty other people from across the USA to support our friend Willie as he, his wife, and 67 others from around the world were sworn in as citizens of the United States. It is both a solemn and joyful occasion. There were people from Somalia, Nepal, Bhutan, Nigeria, Colombia, Mexico, Canada, and twenty-two other countries who stood and pledged their loyalty to our great nation. The youngest was nineteen; the oldest 89. The 89 year old was frail and wheelchair bound, and when asked to state her name and nationality, needed her daughter’s help to be heard. But once her name was known, she raised her hand high and let out a cheer that echoed through the courtroom. It was a moving moment.

Those of us natural-born citizens often fail to realize the privilege we have of living in this country. Some object to anyone claiming we are exceptional, stating that such belief implies a sense of moral superiority. They miss the point. We are exceptional because of our Constitution that established a rule of law that outlined freedoms which have enabled us to achieve more than any other country on earth. 

The court officer who led us through the proceedings told us that she has been doing this job for twenty eight years, and loves it. She said that when she started out, they had two naturalization proceedings a month. Now it’s four per week. In one courthouse in a mid-size city. Multiply that by federal courthouses across the country, and we have thousands of people who believe enough in the exceptionalism of this country that they are willing—no—eager to take an oath of loyalty. 

I am grateful tonight for this imperfect yet wonderful country and for these new citizens who reminded me today of the great privilege we have of living here. God bless the USA!