Non People Person

June 30, 2018

I am not a people person, and it’s OK. Those words sound like the opening statement of an AA meeting. To be truthful, it has taken me years to get to the place where I can say that, and even now, it feels uncomfortable. Today began at 4:00 am so I could get to the church by 5:30 to help prepare breakfast for the cyclists who camped out in the building for the night on their way from South Bend, Indiana to Niagara Falls. Between the cyclists and our church people who served them so kindly, it was filled with people. I was home again by 9:30, but was pretty beat. A short nap before fixing the garage door, then on to two graduation parties and a short errand with Linda.

At the second party, I watched a friend as he talked and laughed with this one and that one, greeting people right and left. I sat at a table fascinated with the ease with which he he moved from person to person. Years ago, it was drilled into me that this was the kind of thing pastors are regularly and consistently supposed to do. I’ve done my share of it, but it is never easy, and when I watch others, I must confess that the guilt starts to rise up in me. Some of it is that with my hearing difficulties, I can’t follow conversations in crowds. The other part is that I’d just rather be home. So here I am (finally!).

Tomorrow will be filled with people again, and I am glad for it. They keep me from retreating into a tiny, self-contained world. Those little worlds may be comfortable, but they do not feed the soul. Even this non-people person needs others to keep me from shriveling into a shadow of what I was meant to be, and I am thankful tonight for each of them who stretch me just by their presence, pushing me to be more than just myself. It’s not comfortable, but it is good and necessary, and I am grateful for them tonight. No, I am not a people person, and it’s OK. But it’s not OK to let that self-revelation control me and my interactions with others.

Keeping Faith

June 29, 2018

Ask any Super Bowl champion, Stanley Cup holder, or World Series winner what are the chances that they’ll be at the top the next year, and though they might be optimistic, they know that the odds are against them. Back to back championships don’t happen often; three in a row are unheard of. It turns out that winning everything is much easier than holding onto it. 

In 1787, as the first Constitutional Convention ended, a woman is reported to have asked Benjamin Franklin whether the fledgling country had a monarchy or a republic. His response, “A republic, if you can keep it.” James Madison, the architect of the Constitution, had studied various forms of governments throughout history, and concluded along with others, that democracies tend to implode in a relatively short period of time. Once the majority realizes it can outvote the minority, it is a rapid slide from freedom to manipulation, coercion, and dictatorship. Republican government such as ours is designed to put the brakes on majority rule, thus securing a more lasting stability. This system has been under increasing attack, as the majority always desires absolute control, while the minority reacts defensively with stonewalling or aggression, rightly fearing the total loss of liberty.

Franklin was right; keeping liberty is more difficult than securing it. If this is true politically, it is even more true in matters of faith. St. Paul chided the Galatian Christians,  saying, “Who has bewitched you, that you should turn away from grace?” He could imagine no logical reason anyone would exchange God’s grace which secured their freedom for the burden of human effort as a means of salvation. Later in this letter, he challenges them, saying, “For freedom Christ has set you free. Stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” (5:1).

Why did he write these words? Because we are so susceptible to the allure of trying to earn our favor with God. It cannot be done. In Christ, God did for us what we cannot do for ourselves, viz. he declared us to be in right relationship with him due to Christ’s having suffered and died in our place. It is wholly by grace. And yet, we keep jettisoning salvation by grace through faith for homemade salvation. We don’t like to be beholden to anyone, even God. It is often harder to keep our salvation than it is to receive it. I am thankful tonight that forgiveness and freedom from guilt is not only a gift to be received, but a lifestyle to be kept. And by God’s grace, we can keep it.

Where Are Your Feet?

June 28, 2018

Early morning is not usually the best part of my day. I tend to wake with the sun, but that only refers to my eyes, not my brain. Our men’s 6:00 am prayer time was only minutes away, so I was in a hurry, which only exacerbated my normal morning incoherence. Jumping in my truck, I turned the key in the ignition, threw the shifter into reverse, and backed out of my parking spot under the huge Norway Spruce. All was going well until I shifted into first gear and released the clutch. The motor shuddered in protest. I depressed the clutch, made sure I was in first gear, and tried again. My truck lurched a couple feet and died. It started right up, but as I released the clutch and pressed the accelerator, the motor once again trembled and stopped. 

What could possibly be wrong? Only two days ago, I had taken it nearly a thousand miles into and back from Canada. It was then that I noticed it. In my haste, I had shifted my right foot just an inch or so to the left. Instead of tromping on the gas, I was hitting the brake as I released the clutch. No way my little truck was going anywhere under those conditions!

It made me wonder. How many times in life have I thought I was hitting the gas, but actually had my foot on the brake? How about those times I engaged in verbal sparring over Facebook political posts? I had the pedal to the floor...or so I thought. In reality, I was hitting the relational brakes. Or when I let someone take over a teaching position in the church because she was articulate and well-versed in Scripture, but I had looked the other way regarding some heart issues that were clear enough to see? Or those times when instead of confronting an issue, I let it play itself out, to the detriment of those who through no fault of their own were caught up in the backwash of it.

None of these incidents were intentional, any more than I deliberately put my foot on the brakes this morning. But unintentional sins and shortcomings can bring things to a shuddering stop just as surely as those more egregious sins to which we give more of our attention. 

As I write this, I feel a bit embarrassed to admit to such a silly error this morning, but I am thankful for the opportunity it has given me to examine an area of my heart that I have tended to overlook. I don’t want to hit the brakes on God’s purposes in my life, even unintentionally. With his help, I’ll pay more attention to where I put my spiritual feet, and maybe...just maybe...this old vehicle will spring to life and chug down the road as it was intended to do.

Stuck

June 27, 2018

Sometimes we just get stuck. It happens regularly to me. Last winter when I was plowing, I managed to get the tractor off the driveway into the sloping ground and soft snow to the side. When I put it into reverse, I just sat spinning all four wheels. It reminded me of Pappy Okerlund whose house we now own. He was the village mechanic, tough, old school, as crusty as they come. When I bought my first four wheel drive truck, he looked at it scornfully. He was a WWII veteran of the Pacific Theater. “I’m not working on any of that Jap crap,” was all he said before walking away disgustedly. I couldn’t blame him, after what he had been through. He turned around with a parting shot. “The only thing about four wheel drive is that when you’re stuck, you’re REALLY stuck! Trust me, you’ll do something stupid and get stuck.” Yeah, I got stuck. But with my tractor. Fortunately, I knew how to leverage the bucket and slowly push my way out.

It’s getting stuck in life that causes me the most trouble. I spend a great deal of my life there, wanting to move ahead, to be better, but not making discernible progress. Stuck. Sometimes it’s my own weaknesses, my lack of self-discipline, my failure to remember who I am in Christ, stupid decisions I made. When that happens, getting out is up to me. I have to change habits, choose to use my time more wisely, evaluate where I am and how I got there, and do things differently.

But sometimes we are stuck through no fault of our own. Yesterday as I was driving home from Canada, I got stuck in Toronto traffic. I traveled most of the way around the city on the ETR, an expensive bypass to the 401 that goes through the heart of the city. They call it rush hour traffic, but no one is ever rushing. They are standing still. Most any time of day, the 401 is the epitome of rush hour traffic. The only time I want to be on it is 3:00 am on a weekend. So I coughed up the big bucks and drove the ETR. It was wonderful until we had to merge with the QEW on the west side of the city. Immediately when I hit the exit lane, traffic stopped dead. I was stuck. Couldn’t move. It took forty minutes to go about half a mile. It wasn’t my fault.

Sometimes in life when we’re stuck, it isn’t our fault. We just happen to be in the middle of a place where nothing is moving. Christians often pray fervently for revival, and it doesn’t come. They are stuck in a time and place beyond their control. We keep praying, but the traffic isn’t moving. Sometimes we find ourselves stuck in life’s situations; a bad marriage, a dead-end job, health issues that won’t go away, someone who betrays a confidence, a wayward child who consistently ignores good advice. Pick your own “stuckness.” Sometimes, it isn’t you. It’s where you are. Where God has placed you. We can rail against it, curse it, beat our heads against it, but we remain stuck. Sometimes, the only way to handle being stuck is patient endurance. The New Testament alone has 33 references to our need of patience. Those verses wouldn’t be there if God intended to instantly rescue us from difficulty every time we utter a prayer for deliverance. 

If I am stuck due to my own negligence, I need to change my ways. But if I am stuck because it’s where God has placed me, alongside many others who are also stuck, but who lack the patience to deal effectively with their “stuckness,” I need to develop my patience and endurance, to learn the lessons that only come when we’re stuck and can’t get out. Tonight, I am grateful for the traffic that made me ponder my soul. I have felt stuck lately. Most of it is due to things I can and must change, but when the other kind comes along, may I have wisdom to recognize God’s plan, and grace and strength enough to learn from it, and perhaps even to help another one of my fellow travelers who is stuck in traffic alongside me.

Living in Camelot

June 26, 2018

She unapologetically took my grapefruit. She didn’t ask, didn’t say “please” or “thank you.” She simply demanded that I hand it over. I didn’t argue, at least not outwardly. Inside, I considered reasoning with her, cajoling her, shaming her into returning it, but quickly rejected those options. She was a border agent. She asked if I had firearms, weapons, drugs, fruit, or vegetables. I had bought the grapefruit to snack on as I drove home today, but wasn’t hungry, so it sat on the seat. If she hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t have thought to tell her, but the question was right out there, so I confessed. “Put your vehicle in Park, take the key out of the ignition, and give it to me.” She was quiet and calm, but I know an order when I hear one. I wanted to tell her that being a standard, there was no “Park,” but thought better of it. I wanted to get across the border without incident. She lowered the tailgate of the truck, poked around a bit, then returned my passport and waved me through.

“I need my keys,” was the only reply I thought appropriate. Somewhat chagrined, she handed them to me. I understand the reasoning; American agriculture has too often been the recipient of pests brought in either deliberately or unknowingly. I didn’t hand over my grapefruit for my protection, but for the good of others.

Sometimes life is like that. We don’t live only for ourselves, St. Paul tells us. Honest people who break no laws often have their freedoms restricted for the good of the whole. The question always becomes, “Who decides,” and, “How much freedom must we relinquish?” Well-meaning people differ greatly in their answers. Giving up a grapefruit is no big deal; having our First or Second Amendment rights restricted is a big deal. Borders must be guarded for the protection of all within those borders. These are hot button issues, and they all go back to my grapefruit. I had time as I drove to ponder these matters, for which I am grateful tonight, even if I don’t have the answers. Over time, all societies and cultures tend to decay and disintegrate. It begins slowly, but as history amply demonstrates, once it begins, the dissolution rarely turns around. 

I am thankful to be living in this present time. We have grave issues before us as a world, as a nation, as people of faith, or of no faith. But a song from a popular musical nearly sixty years ago keeps running through my head, 

“Ask every person if he's heard the story, 

And tell it strong and clear if he has not

That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory

Called Camelot...

Don’t let it be forgot

That once there was a spot

For one brief shining moment that was known

As Camelot.”

The song was a lament for the opportunities lost upon the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and the tumultuous ‘60’s that followed. Yet in many ways, we are still living in a fantasy world, a place like never before seen on this earth. I am grateful for it, but know enough not to place my ultimate hopes in it. Those hopes and dreams I pin on the Lord Jesus Christ and his promised kingdom, and for that promise, I give my greatest thanks tonight.

Exporting Salvation

June 25, 2018

When we first shook hands on the deal, we never imagined it would be this complicated. After all, we buy and sell vehicles all the time. Negotiate a price, money exchanges hands, the title is signed over, and each party is on their way. Except when you cross an international border. At that moment, things get sticky. We didn’t know that back then. When I showed my friend Grant a photo of my ‘74 ironhead hardtail Sportster, he almost drooled, and when I told him it was for sale, he wasted no time. I had barely named my price, when he said, “I’ll buy it!” Enthusiastic would be putting it mildly. 

Grant crafts knives. He doesn’t make knives; he creates works of art when he’s not playing music in one or another bands in his area. His area, by the way, is Wilno, Ontario, Canada, about five hours northeast of Toronto. We met him years ago while vacationing in the area. Tuesday night is blues night at the Wilno Tavern, and my sons and I had gone to listen to the music. The house was SRO, the music was great, and while we stood against one wall listening, son Matt ripped a business card off the cork board. Fraser Knives. We called him up, we visited the next day, and Matt was hooked. From the internet,  he learned how to make a forge, and each summer’s vacation, he would take samples of his latest work for Grant to critique. Finally the day came when Grant said, “I can’t teach you any more,” and Matt was off and running. Which is more than I can say for the bike.

Between the time we made the deal and today were a couple lean years for Grant’s knifemaking. Last spring he sent me the money for the bike, and last summer I took it up to him. Only then did we learn the finer points of the import-export business. I had to make another trip up north to pick it up and bring it back across the border, just the small matter of some minor international legalities. Grant was unable to meet me at the border, so for a full year, I had both the money and the bike. I decided it was time to rectify the situation, and today was the day.

Last week, I made the proper arrangements, which included setting up an export business, complete with business numbers, making arrangements with a broker to file the paperwork with the government, then waiting 72 hours minimum before bringing it across the border. I was assured that everything would go just fine, and it did...till I stopped at Canadian customs. The border agent with whom I talked insisted that Grant had to come to the border in person to sign the papers, which wasn’t going to happen. I was about to give up and turn around when another agent assured me that if I took the paperwork to him, he could do what he needed to do at any time.

An hour later, I was on my way, and six hours later, we unloaded the bike in his front yard. All this got me to thinking. Border crossings can be difficult, and importing or exporting even more so. The biggest and most significant border crossing I can think of was when God sent his Son across the border from heaven to earth. That crossing was not without incident. Born in poverty, Jesus was immediately the target of hostile attention that lasted from birth to death. But God much as I finally exported that old bike into Canada, God exported salvation into this world successfully. He did all that was necessary when Jesus died on the cross for our sins. But there is one more step. 

Grant will at some point have to take the paperwork to the proper authorities in Canada, and register the bike in his name. He has the title, but won’t be able to fully enjoy the benefits that title gives until he himself takes action on it. In much the same way, the salvation God offers us is genuinely ours, but until we do our part of receiving it and publicly claiming Christ for ourselves, that salvation cannot be fully enjoyed. Grant will do a lot of work on that bike before it is useable. If he doesn’t take that final step of going before the authorities with the paperwork, he will have expended a lot of energy for a showpiece bike that can’t be ridden.

There are a lot of people who work hard at their religion, but all they have to show for it is a bunch of spiritual bruised knuckles. They can’t enjoy the full benefit of God’s salvation export because they haven’t taken that final step of fully making it their own. God did his part; now comes our turn. It’s not about the work we put into it, but instead it’s a matter of receiving by faith what he has given to us in Christ. When we do, we find that he has given us a ride like no other.

Authority

June 24, 2018

The Scripture lesson for today was the conclusion of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5-7. It says that when he was done, the people were amazed because he taught with authority, and not like the scribes and rabbis. Authority is not the same as power. A semi has power and momentum, but when the officer stands in the intersection and holds up his hand, the driver of the truck slows and stops. He has the power to squash the policeman like a bug, but the officer has authority, and usually, power yields to authority.

Jesus had that kind of authority. Humanly speaking, he was pretty powerless. He yielded his heavenly power when he took on human flesh to come to earth as our Savior. But he retained authority, and it caught people’s attention. It didn’t always change things. Not even Jesus was able to convert everyone he met. I guess we shouldn’t expect any different. There is however, more to the story. The Gospels tell us that he was crucified, buried, and resurrected. He then ascended to the Father, and is seated at his right hand. In Biblical times being seated at the right hand of power was the place of ultimate authority. And according to the story, he has given to us the same authority he took when he was seated. Ephesians 2 tells us that we are seated with him in heavenly places. In Matthew 28, Jesus told his disciples that he was giving them the same authority he had been given.

It’s a good story, but so what? Well, we live in a day when authority is questioned and resisted. There are times that is a good thing, but a total absence of authority creates anarchy, which is never a good thing. In a world that seems to be coming unglued, where anything goes, a person who carries him or herself with authority is bound to be noticed. And the Christian has that kind of authority; not to lord it over anyone else, but to have control over him or herself. Being subjected to one’s passions or addictions is never a good place to be. They drive us all over the place, playing havoc with our lives. Having our emotions, our needs, our neuroses calling the shots will inevitably lead us into bondage. Freedom from all constraint is a peculiar and deadly form of bondage.

One day a soldier came to Jesus with a particular request. His servant was sick, and he wanted healing for him. When Jesus offered to come, the soldier said it wasn’t necessary; all he needed was for Jesus to say the word, and his servant would be healed. He then explained that he was “a man under authority, with soldiers under him.” Whatever command he gave was carried out, so all Jesus needed to do was to give the command. He understood authority. But notice that he began by saying “I am under authority.” There is a chain of command, and he was expected to give orders consistent with the one in authority over him. 

The authority the Christian uses must be consistent with the One in authority over us. I have no authority of my own; it is what Jesus gave me. So if I try to influence for personal benefit, I lose authority. But when I am under his authority, I need not fret over mistakes in my past, worry over my future, or fear of man or demon in the present. Authority breeds confidence, and confidence produces peace. It’s a good place to be, and I am thankful to be there today.

Restoration

June 23, 2018

I have much for which to be thankful today. Of course, that’s nothing new. It only takes a few moments of thought to begin to recall the blessings of the day. Health, a country with unprecedented freedom, a wife who loves me, children and grandchildren who are an almost daily part of our lives, two church families, our forgiveness and salvation in Christ...the list could go on and on. Anyone with eyes and a heart to see can discover many of these same blessings, and more.

Today, two lesser blessings popped into view. It was time to start assembling the antique motorcycle, so I was rummaging around the garage looking for those small parts that may seem insignificant, but without which the entire project comes to a halt. Those small items have a way of getting buried in boxes and misplaced entirely, which has been my fear ever since I took the bike to get rebuilt almost twenty years ago. The fellow I took it to ran into some health problems, and for a number of years, I didn’t even know where the motor and transmission were. As for the rest of the bike, it was in pieces. I know the wiring harness disappeared long ago; what I don’t know is what else is missing.

Today I had hoped to assemble the front forks and attach them to the frame. Alas! One of the bearing races was nowhere to be found. And I was missing three ball bearings. This bike is old enough that it doesn’t have integrated bearing races; you grease the balls, set them on one cup and gently lower the other cup onto it, hoping that in the process you don’t spill balls all over the floor. Box after box refused to yield that errant race, but of all places, I found it in an old tennis ball canister, along with the crown nut that holds the fork on the frame. I was particularly happy to find that, because a replacement costs $45. For a nut! 

I neglected to have the wheels and brake backing plates painted with the rest of the bike, an oversight I am already regretting, but they can wait for another day. Actual build is getting close!

As I was closing up the garage tonight, I hit the button to lower the door, and stepped outside while it closed. Just as the door touched the floor, I heard a crash. Stepping back inside, I immediately saw that on one side, the big spring that provides the tension to raise the door had popped loose from its mounting bracket. I am glad I wasn’t standing there when it happened. Springs are wonderful inventions, but they can be injurious and even deadly when they let loose.

This evening, the lost is found, and I dodged the spring. It was a good day, and I am reflecting on the amount of work it takes to restore broken things to working order. The motor and transmission I sent out; I might have been able to rebuild the transmission, but there’s no way I have the skills to do the motor. Even the relatively simple task of assembling the parts is quite a job. Painting, organizing, consulting the manuals, looking for those oddball parts; all just to restore an old motorcycle. Then there’s all the work Jesus puts into restoring broken people; rebuilding worn out hearts, replacing broken attitudes, cleaning lives that have been soiled and battered by sin. It’s no small task, but God lovingly tends to the smallest of details, and spared no expense to ensure that the end product turns out to be a classic. That is something worth giving thanks for.

Happy Birthday

June 22, 2018

Observing a birthday by moving an industrial compressor out of a basement is not exactly what most people would consider a celebration. In many ways, it wasn’t a celebration for my son, whose birthday it is. The compressor powered the steam system in the dry cleaning business he bought last year. In spite of a lot of hard work and some fine people working for him, it wasn’t bringing in the business necessary to meet expenses. Instead, it was sucking up money from his successful enterprises, so he made the decision last month to shutter the business and liquidate whatever equipment he could. 

Some good friends showed up to help move the compressor, so it wasn’t as bad a job as I had feared, and at one point, I asked him what he was going to do with the neon sign in the window. “I’d actually like to forget about it,” was his reply. Looking around the building, it’s sad to see what was once a thriving enterprise a mere shell of what it once was. I’d never actually seen the nuts and bolts of such a business, and was impressed by all the equipment it took to operate even a small mom and pop business.

We stepped outside, Nate turned the key in the lock, and we walked the few steps to the truck. On the way home, we talked about the future. One thing I know: successful people are never successful all the time. I can point to a number of failures in my 40 plus years of ministry. Critics point out that our president failed at many of his business ventures, but he never let that stop him. Years ago, I listened to a successful pastor tell a gathering of clergy that if they weren’t failing on a regular basis, they weren’t trying hard enough. I grew up learning to play it safe, and have spent most of my pastoral life trying to undo that training. Along the way, I learned how important it is to fail.

Closing a business is hard work. It takes an emotional toll. Call it by any other name, it feels like a failure. But it is only failure if you take it to heart. Most success stories are the cumulative result of someone who repeatedly failed but refused to let failure define him.

Tonight we sat together as a family, watching his second daughter graduate from high school. She is, like his other daughters, beautiful inside and out, talented and poised, a young woman who makes us proud to be her grandparents. Nate will succeed in his businesses because he learns from both the successes and failures. And even if every business venture he tried ended in disaster, he is already a success where it really counts, as a husband, father, and son. I am justifiably proud of him and thankful for him. Happy birthday, Nate!

Happy Birthday

June 22, 2018

Observing a birthday by moving an industrial compressor out of a basement is not exactly what most people would consider a celebration. In many ways, it wasn’t a celebration for my son, whose birthday it is. The compressor powered the steam system in the dry cleaning business he bought last year. In spite of a lot of hard work and some fine people working for him, it wasn’t bringing in the business necessary to meet expenses. Instead, it was sucking up money from his successful enterprises, so he made the decision last month to shutter the business and liquidate whatever equipment he could. 

Some good friends showed up to help move the compressor, so it wasn’t as bad a job as I had feared, and at one point, I asked him what he was going to do with the neon sign in the window. “I’d actually like to forget about it,” was his reply. Looking around the building, it’s sad to see what was once a thriving enterprise a mere shell of what it once was. I’d never actually seen the nuts and bolts of such a business, and was impressed by all the equipment it took to operate even a small mom and pop business.

We stepped outside, Nate turned the key in the lock, and we walked the few steps to the truck. On the way home, we talked about the future. One thing I know: successful people are never successful all the time. I can point to a number of failures in my 40 plus years of ministry. Critics point out that our president failed at many of his business ventures, but he never let that stop him. Years ago, I listened to a successful pastor tell a gathering of clergy that if they weren’t failing on a regular basis, they weren’t trying hard enough. I grew up learning to play it safe, and have spent most of my pastoral life trying to undo that training. Along the way, I learned how important it is to fail.

Closing a business is hard work. It takes an emotional toll. Call it by any other name, it feels like a failure. But failure doesn’t make you a failure unless you take it to heart. Most success stories are the cumulative result of someone who repeatedly failed but refused to let failure define him.

Tonight we sat together as a family, watching his second daughter graduate from high school. She is, like his other daughters, beautiful inside and out, talented and poised, a young woman who makes us proud to be her grandparents. Nate will succeed in his businesses because he learns from both the successes and failures. And even if every business venture he tried ended in disaster, he is already a success as a husband, father, and son. I am justifiably proud of him and thankful for him. Happy birthday, Nate!

Happy Birthday

June 22, 2018

Observing a birthday by moving an industrial compressor out of a basement is not exactly what most people would consider a celebration. In many ways, it wasn’t a celebration for my son, whose birthday it is. The compressor powered the steam system in the dry cleaning business he bought last year. In spite of a lot of hard work and some fine people working for him, it wasn’t bringing in the business necessary to meet expenses. Instead, it was sucking up money from his successful enterprises, so he made the decision last month to shutter the business and liquidate whatever equipment he could. 

Some good friends showed up to help move the compressor, so it wasn’t as bad a job as I had feared, and at one point, I asked him what he was going to do with the neon sign in the window. “I’d actually like to forget about it,” was his reply. Looking around the building, it’s sad to see what was once a thriving enterprise a mere shell of what it once was. I’d never actually seen the nuts and bolts of such a business, and was impressed by all the equipment it took to operate even a small mom and pop business.

We stepped outside, Nate turned the key in the lock, and we walked the few steps to the truck. On the way home, we talked about the future. One thing I know: successful people are never successful all the time. I can point to a number of failures in my 40 plus years of ministry. Critics point out that our president failed at many of his business ventures, but he never let that stop him. Years ago, I listened to a successful pastor tell a gathering of clergy that if they weren’t failing on a regular basis, they weren’t trying hard enough. I grew up learning to play it safe, and have spent most of my pastoral life trying to undo that training. Along the way, I learned how important it is to fail.

Closing a business is hard work. It takes an emotional toll. Call it by any other name, it feels like a failure. But failure doesn’t make you a failure unless you take it to heart. Most success stories are the cumulative result of someone who repeatedly failed but refused to let failure define him.

Tonight we sat together as a family, watching his second daughter graduate from high school. She is, like his other daughters, beautiful inside and out, talented and poised, a young woman who makes us proud to be her grandparents. Nate will succeed in his businesses because he learns from both the successes and failures. And even if every business venture he tried ended in disaster, he is already a success as a husband, father, and son. I am justifiably proud of him and thankful for him. Happy birthday, Nate!

Ear Bugs

June 21, 2018

Another lesson in aging. As I rode my motorcycle to a doctor’s appointment to try to diagnose the reason for the pain in my left hip, my ears began to itch, which was quite annoying because I can’t get a finger in between the helmet and my ear to scratch it. This wasn’t any old itch; it felt like little bugs were trying to crawl inside my ear canal, something of which I was definitely not in favor. I suppose it’s better than those times that I’ve driven into bees which promptly wedged themselves between the helmet and my cheek, stingers first. THAT is annoying in the first degree!

Today was only mildly annoying, but there wasn’t much I could do about it till I arrived at my destination. Except think. Which I did. Soon, I realized that there were no bugs trying to make themselves at home in my ears; it was the wind whipping those pesky ear hairs that grow like weeds in the ears of people over sixty. I don’t know why God thinks I need hair in my ears; I’d much rather have it on the top of my head where it belongs. I could put up with the feeling of bugs crawling all over my head if it meant I could sport a follicular forest. But no...I have to settle for bugs in my ears. 

If I had to choose however, I would choose ear bugs over the throbbing ache in my left foot and hip. The good doctor showed me the X-ray report from my last visit that I had totally forgotten about. The mild arthritis that showed up didn’t in his opinion, warrant an MRI or any other tests. He offered a prescription for inflammation that I’ll get filled, but probably won’t take regularly like he wants. I don’t like taking medicine, regularly forget when it’s prescribed, and am not so debilitated that I can’t do most of what I want to do, although I admit that tonight, my hip and foot are letting me know in no uncertain terms that they aren’t happy with the mile and a half walk Linda and I put them through this evening. All in all, it’s not so bad. I can get around, and that hip and foot are pretty reliable indicators that I’m still alive. And for that, I am thankful. Still, I could do without the hairy ears.

What’s Open?

June 20, 2018

If you want to be surprised, instead of talking, just shut up and listen to people. I know...that’s easier said than done. Many of us are simply wired to talk. I have a friend whose stream of words is so constant, I sometimes wonder when he breathes. Others have to be prodded and cajoled to even open their mouths. Most are somewhere in between, and if we only listen, they often reveal beauty and courage that are unseen on the surface. 

Just this day alone, I’ve interacted with a woman whose tender heart is in agony over the plight of the children caught in our national border debacle. No matter where you stand on the issues politically, there is little doubt that a tragedy is playing out before our eyes. This woman is genuinely troubled by it all, agonizing over something about which she can do very little. 

I prayed with some pastors this morning whose backgrounds and approach to ministry are very different than my own. Listening to their stories and hearing their heart for addicts, the homeless, society’s misfits, I am humbled by their patient persistence as they wade into the lives of desperate people, picking up the pieces of shattered lives over and over again. 

I met with a “newbie” pastor who is working hard to fit into his calling. He doesn’t even always see how his faithfulness as a layman, as a son, husband, and father have shaped and prepared him for the life to which he has been called.

This evening, I sat with some faithful church members who have weathered storms that would have sunk lesser vessels. They are excited about the opportunities and possibilities for ministry that are opening up before them. It is fun to listen as they report almost with surprise what God has been doing through them.

Another woman who years ago heard God’s call in her life shared what that has meant in the past, and how it is shaping her life in the present. Just looking at her, you wouldn’t necessarily guess what a dynamo she is for Jesus. I described her as fearless in her faith. She corrected me. She isn’t fearless; she is courageous. 

The day ended after 10:30, coming home to my ever-patient wife, who instead of greeting me with “Where in the world have you been?!!” merely asked about my day. With each of these people, taking the time to just listen to what God is doing in them, how he is shaping their hearts, is an education in humility and grace. God often chooses the most unlikely people, simply so he can showcase his goodness and power. I’ve had the opportunity to see it at work in dozens of people, in dozens of ways. I am thankful for each of them, and for God having opened my eyes more than my mouth today. Open eyes get me in a lot less trouble than an open mouth.

Lost and Found

June 19, 2018

Only after the fact did I discover they were missing. The others were where I remember leaving them, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember where I had last seen these two, and I knew that without them, everything would come to a screeching halt. So I looked. High and low, everywhere I could imagine them to possibly be, until lo and behold, there they were, a bit dirty and looking a bit worse for wear, but basically intact. 

No, it wasn’t any of my kids, although there have been times the above paragraph could have been written about them. I’m talking about my fork rockers. For the uninitiated, fork rockers aren’t little curved things that you put table forks on to rock them back and forth. They are what connect the two pieces of the springer front end so it can absorb the road shock when riding the antique motorcycle. Without them, there is no way of attaching the axle and therefore, the front wheel and tire. They aren’t very big, but they are very important. The bike can function without some of the bigger parts like the fenders, but without those little rockers, it’s dead in the water, although I imagine that even with them it would be dead if I drove it into the water.

I looked diligently, digging into every box that might contain them, and finally, there they were in all their greasy glory. Finding them saved me a bundle of money and down time. 

It’s a poor comparison, but it’s a story as old as the Bible—lost things that are found; God searching out the misplaced and forgotten, the dirty and forlorn. There was nothing those rockers could do on their own; I had to go looking for them, much the same way Jesus came looking for me when I was helpless and hopeless. I won’t lose those rockers again, and unlike me, they can’t stray on their own. The Bible assures us that those whom Jesus finds, he keeps. We may stray, but his leash is strong and secure. 

Pretty soon, I’ll clean up the rockers and install them on the forks. Then comes the axle and tire. It all gets hooked up to the frame, and pretty soon it will begin to look like a motorcycle again. Soon after that, we’ll have it up and running, fulfilling the purpose for which it was made. And though we may be but a small part in the Church, only once we are all in our proper place can the whole fulfill its purpose of giving praise to the Father who sent his Son to seek and save that which was lost (Luke 19:10).

Heat

June 18, 2018

Even the breeze was stifling. Saturday, my friend Bill rode his Anniversary Edition Harley from Rochester to join me and a dozen others from the area in a bike blessing and ride. It was a good day, with a pleasant ride around Chautauqua Lake followed by lunch overlooking the water in Bemus Point. Bill stayed overnight to join us for Father’s Day, leaving for home around five in the afternoon. Later he texted me, telling me that he had made it home from his visit, adding that with the heat, it was like riding in a blast furnace.

The only ride I got in yesterday was in the morning, driving to church in Dunkirk. The cool of the night hadn’t completely worn off, so it was a pleasant ride. Today was another story. Even going the back way up Shumla Road, which winds through the woods alongside a creek, there were pockets of heat that assaulted the senses as I rode. Bill’s description was right; it was like riding through a furnace.

I am not a heat person. I do better in the shade or in springtime or autumn cool than baking in the summer sun. It’s just another way Linda and I are different. I am amazed that I handle the Cuban summers as well as I do, but here, I wither in the heat. I am grateful that I don’t have to labor in the glare of the noonday summer sun, and for the break in the weather that will soon come. It is unimaginable to me how slaves managed to survive, working in the South and in the Caribbean heat as they did. I am among the privileged few in human history. I haven’t been forced to labor in tropical heat or frozen gulag. I haven’t been displaced by war, and haven’t had to live behind barred windows and locked doors. We don’t have air conditioning in our house, but the trees and a fan or two make the heat bearable. And tonight, I will lay down in peace and safety, in good health, and in the sure knowledge of the grace of Christ in my life. I am a blessed man, and a thankful one, too.

Fathers

June 17, 2018

One night while lying in bed, Linda asked me what I was feeling. Those kinds of questions can be a bit unnerving. Maybe I need therapy because most of the time I don’t know what I’m feeling. On this particular night, I told her that it was like all these emotions were spinning in a circle over my head so fast that I couldn’t grab one to actually look at it and figure out what it was. Tonight is another one of those nights, not because the feelings are so elusive, but because there are so many of them.

The day started out beautifully with a nice letter that Linda wrote me. Better than a card!

Then came mixed feelings; I had to miss the baptisms in our creek and worship in the park, which sadden me, but I once more had the blessing of leading worship in Dunkirk.

A family cookout that included all three of our kids, their spouses, and all our grandkids was made even better by the presence of our daughter-in-laws’ fathers with us. We celebrated the birthdays of our June babies, Jess, Nate, and Todd, and of our May baby Alex, who was away from home at her summer job on the actual day.

I called my mother this evening. Dad died on Father’s Day, 2012. It was the 17th of June that year. Linda told me on her mother’s birthday that she thinks of her every day. It doesn’t work that way for me, but today, I miss him. I am grateful that on that day six years ago, he was surrounded by family at the camp he loved. He knew the Lord, didn’t suffer or linger, so it’s hard to be sad except for our loss. Mom and I talked till it was time for her to go to bed, after which Linda and I watched a favorite Netflix series.

Father’s Day is what it is for me because of our Heavenly Father, whose love and grace has given me everything I value in life. It’s not just about my father, my being a father, or my sons’ fatherhood. It’s about the One from whom all that is good about fatherhood comes. So it’s been a good day, even with the variety of emotions that came with it.