Just Do It

September 30, 2018

“You do some things just because it’s the right thing to do.” Linda has drilled this into our kids from the time they were small. My mother’s version as I was growing up was, “You keep your first commitment even if something better comes along.” 

It had been another full Sunday. Part of Park’s worship service before heading north to Dunkirk, followed by family dinner and cleanup. My hip was stabbing me, so after spending most of yesterday and three hours this morning on my feet, I was ready to put my feet up. I lay down on the couch and promptly fell asleep, something that rarely happens around here. I didn’t feel like going anywhere or doing anything the rest of the day, but at 5:00 I was scheduled to teach bass at our SOTA (School Of The Arts), so 4:30 found me lugging amps to the classroom and getting the tables pushed to one end of the room. I didn’t feel like being there, but Linda’s and my mother’s words were ringing in my ears.

So I went. The lessons went well and after my lesson time, I had the opportunity to help one of the other class leaders. I didn’t notice my aching hip until after I got home. Teaching tonight was the right thing to do, even if I didn’t feel like being there at first. Linda and mom would be thankful tonight that I listened to them. I’m pretty glad I did, too. A sports ad some years ago put it succinctly: “Just Do It!” I’m thankful I did. 

The Joy of the LORD

September 29, 2018

When Ezra read the law to the people, they were grieved as they realized how far short they had fallen from its ideals. Nehemiah told the people to stop weeping and begin rejoicing, because the day was holy to the LORD. They were repentant, but he refused to allow them to wallow in their sadness. It is good to be sorry for our sins, but wallowing in sorrow is never a good thing. A broken heart wears out the bearer. It isn’t possible to maintain life with only sorrow.

Nehemiah gave them good advice when he told them to feast and share their bounty with others. But he also gave them the reason why they should do so when he said, “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” If we try to serve God from any other source, we wear out. Guilt is not a good motivator; obligation isn’t enough. Strength enough to serve God faithfully only comes from the deep well of joy and satisfaction he alone gives. Genuine repentance is a good thing, but it can become an albatross around our necks if it doesn’t ground us in the love and joy of God himself. 

I read this verse this morning, and have been thanking God all day for the joy that gives strength to do his will.

Fear and Courage

September 28, 2018

“Don’t be afraid. It is I.” So said Jesus to his disciples as he came to them walking on the water in the teeth of the storm. Fear is one of the most powerful motivators in life. Fear has made many a stalwart professor of faith recant under threat of torture. Fear of isolation has caused otherwise honorable people to sheepishly follow the crowd. Those who can harness people’s fear can garner almost godlike status. 

The recent confirmation hearings offer insight into the workings of fear. One commentator warned of “an uprising” if Cavanaugh is confirmed—usually the kind of language reserved for the far right. Others have spoken of wholesale hemorrhaging of the Republican Party if he isn’t confirmed. Both Washington and the media are masters at playing on people’s fears to their advantage. 

Back in the seventies, we were warned about the threat of impending disasters in the form of global cooling that would engender worldwide famine. Today it’s global warming, or giving it wider latitude, “climate change,” which covers everything. Jimmy Carter’s newly-minted EPA told us we were running out of fossil fuels, creating in the process, long lines of vehicles waiting for gasoline that often wasn’t to be had at any price. As one century turned into another, people stocked up on foodstuffs and supplies for a Y2K that never happened. Fear is a powerful motivator, and therefore, a powerful tool.

In the Biblical record of Ezra, the rebuilding of the temple was halted when letters alleging a rebellion if it were rebuilt were sent to king Artaxerxes. When Nehemiah determined to rebuild the city walls, Tobias and Sanballat predicted disaster. They mocked, plotted to attack the workers, and when that failed, tried to blackmail and even assassinate him. Nehemiah’s response? “Should a man like me run away? I will not!” He refused to be intimidated because he was confident in God’s call even though it wasn’t a dramatic experience. He had merely heard about the conditions back home, and decided he needed to do something about it. 

Why was he so fearless? Perhaps it had something to do with his job as cupbearer to the king. That job didn’t merely involve bringing the king his wine; he was the taster, the one who made sure it hadn’t been poisoned. He faced death every day; no threat could be devised that could rattle him. The lesson is clear: it is possible to live without fear even while living with uncertainty. St. Paul said, “I die daily.” You can’t scare a dead man. He had died to this world so he could live for Christ. 

If there is one virtue in short supply in modern life, it is courage to face the scorn of society and the threats of the fearmongers. They are after power and control, but the Christian’s life is lived in the power of the Holy Spirit and under the control of Jesus Christ himself. So rejoice, and be thankful tonight that fear is not your only option. There is also faith, love, and holiness.

Finishing Well

September 27, 2018

A day that begins with prayer and breakfast with friends followed by a road trip to see my mother and pick up our granddaughter from college, and ending with Linda by my side has to count as a great day. Our prayer time started with the reading of Psalm 95, which begins with thanks and praise to God as we come to worship. It ends however, warning us to not harden our hearts, which warning became the focus of our prayer. With the exception of pastor Joe, all the guys around the table this morning are fifty-five and older. Three of us are pushing seventy. We often hear people our age saying things like, “Take it easy. Enjoy life; you deserve it.” It’s an invitation to rest on whatever laurels we’ve accumulated, to coast. We have other plans. We want to finish well. Just yesterday Bill Cosby walked into the jail where he will likely spend most of his remaining days. Once an icon of wholesome family life, he is now disgraced—all he once stood for gone.   One choice led to another and another, till it caught up with him. 

We’ve too often seen the tragic results of men who once were idols of society but who believed the press about themselves and fell from grace. Finishing well is important. We have people who have looked up to us, a witness to uphold, a God to glorify. For us, beginning our Thursdays together in prayer is an essential component of finishing well.

I am grateful for these men who encourage me with their faithful presence and prayers to finish well. Tonight, I’m one day closer than before, and thankful for God’s grace and these men. Together by that grace, we will all finish well.

Decency

September 26, 2018

“Decently and in order.” That’s how worship is to be conducted, according to St. Paul in 1 Corinthians 14:40. The church in Corinth had gotten out of control in their demonstrations of their spiritual gifts, with rich people disrespecting the poor, their fellowship dinners turning into drunken spectacles, and church fights threatening not only the unity, but the survival of the fledgling congregation.

In these very last words of his letter (last words are important, you know), he first mentions common decency. It’s not bad advice for life in general. We are witnessing the collapse of decency in public life. Movies are increasingly violent and sexually explicit, social media is a wasteland of obscenity and virulent assault against people the perpetrators have never even met, and the political arena has become a vile circus of grandstanding and posturing, all in the name of openness, but in reality, for raw power.

Decent men and women are vilified and subjected to a secular Inquisition simply because they don’t follow the correct doctrine of the political machine. And when decency dies, so does order. Chaos follows on its heels.

I’ve been working on my son’s bathroom remodel. We all would like it to be done yesterday, but there is an order to the process that if not followed, leads to chaos and destruction. I’m an amateur, so every step I take, I have to think through. I haven’t done this enough to have it come second nature to me. If I get the process out of order, parts of what I’ve already accomplished have to be torn out and redone. 

If I want a decent (let alone outstanding) outcome, I have to follow this order: tear out the old, fix the foundational damage, shim walls and ceiling, run wiring and plumbing, insulate, then drywall, floor, and fixtures. But sometimes the expected order isn’t what is called for. Just tonight it occurred to me that I’ll need to backtrack on one segment if it’s going to turn out right. Decently and in order seems dull and pedantic until things don’t turn out right when this rule is ignored. I am grateful tonight for this Scriptural wisdom, pray that I’ll apply it in all areas of my life, and that we might see a restoration of it in public life.

Griping

September 25, 2018

Gratitude doesn’t come naturally to me. It took me too many years to realize its importance, and even more to fully engage it as a spiritual discipline. Even now, five years into a daily routine of finding and writing about something for which to give thanks, it is easier to find fault than to be thankful. And if with a deliberate and determined commitment to gratitude it is still easier to gripe and grouch about things, how much harder is it for anyone not committed to such a discipline? 

As we sat at dinner this evening, Linda and I were talking about a couple situations that concern us, but about which there is little we can do. The line between genuine concern and illegitimate griping is very fine, and is revealed by our attitude we harbor towards the situation. If we only talk to each other and fail to bring the situation before the Lord, it’s a pretty good indicator that the conversation has gone beyond concern and into criticism. It happens almost before we know it, and robs us of our joy. 

I am thankful tonight that the decision I made five years ago makes me aware of my tendency towards complaining, so I was able to recognize what was happening and make the choice to change my focus. And I am thankful for the Word of God that convicted me of my ingratitude and reminded me to pray for these situations instead of griping about or fretting over them. 

Thirteen

September 24, 2018

The origins of the superstition that thirteen is an unlucky number are quite possibly lost to the mists of time. People who study this sort of thing tell us it has something to do with there having been thirteen men gathered around the table at the Last Supper, one of whom was Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Christ, but proving this beyond reasonable doubt might be somewhat difficult.

Be that as it may, along with walking under ladders, having a black cat cross your path, and stepping on the cracks in a sidewalk, this has persisted to the point where many hotels and public buildings don’t have a thirteenth floor—they skip from twelve to fourteen. For a young person, turning thirteen may be considered a major step in growing up, something longed for. Or it may be the initiation into tumultuous teenage years from which she is not sorry to leave seven years hence. 

My thirteenth year was marked by a singular event that I remember clearly to this day. I was loitering with a couple of my buddies in the local pharmacy, riffling harmlessly through the magazine rack when the store manager strode up to us and summarily kicked us out of his store. Welcome to teenagerhood! I can’t say my teenage years we’re particularly traumatic or difficult, but I never had to expend the energy some of my friends did to maintain their status as “cool.” I was never cool. I wasn’t hot, either, even when playing sax in the dance band. I guess you could say I was lukewarm...room temperature. 

I felt awkward, didn’t know how to fit in with most of the kids at school, and felt more at home in my world of music and church. Odd, how God chose someone like me to be a pastor, leader of a congregation. He certainly has a sense of humor. And it turned out all right. The churches I pastored all grew during my tenure. Maybe in part it was because there wasn’t any possibility of me attracting people by force of dynamic personality. God chooses the ones others overlook, the ones voted least likely to succeed, in order that the glory might go to him. 

Today our granddaughter Madeline turns thirteen. It’s not an unlucky number or year, although at times it might feel awkward to her as she bit by bit masters the business of maturing into a young woman. My prayer is that she will always know the favor of Christs’s smile upon her as she stretches growing wings and learns to fly. I am thankful tonight for her; for her tender heart, her beautiful smile, and her love of music, animals, and Jesus. Happy 13th birthday, Mattie!

Taking Time

September 23, 2018

It’s not as if there is nothing for which to give thanks. It would take me quite awhile to even begin to list all the blessings that are mine today. The problem isn’t a lack of blessing; it’s a day so packed with work and people that I haven’t had time to reflect and choose something to write about. Ever since I was a kid in Sunday School, I was taught that Sunday is a day of rest, but there hasn’t been anything restful about it. Two worship services this morning, granddaughter Mattie’s birthday party for most of the afternoon with cleanup following before teaching electric bass at our School Of The Arts this evening. I guess the mere fact that I was able to squeeze all that in should be a point of gratitude. 

My point is simple. The words “think” and “thank” are closely related; often we fail to give thanks because we fail to think. We fail to think because we cram so much into our days and nights, often stuff that actually dulls our capacity for reflection, that thinking is simply crowded out. So tonight, I am thinking, and in doing so, am finding plenty of fodder for thanksgiving. Anyone can do it. It just takes a bit of time and a desire to look at life through the lens of gratitude instead of griping. Scripture commands us to “give thanks in all things, for this is the will of God...” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Failure to do so not only impoverishes us and imprisons us in the pit of ingratitude; it is disobedience to the clearly revealed Word of God. So tonight I am obeying God’s command and finding blessing by taking the time to give thanks. I highly recommend it.

Change

September 22, 2018

Autumn is officially here! You wouldn’t have guessed it yesterday; the thermometer registered somewhere in the mid 80s, and I was wringing wet with sweat after unloading fifty cases of apple juice for the Willow mission in Dunkirk. The evening was mild, interrupted by a fierce, but brief thunderstorm. Today feels a bit more seasonal, with temperatures in the mid sixties. We even turned on the gas fireplace tonight. 

The promise of springtime with its endless shades of green as the trees bud and grasses spring from the earth turn to the full bloom of summer with heat waves shimmering in the sun, and finally to the golden glories of the maples and the crimson sumac. In a couple more months, all will be buried beneath the first snowfall while the earth rests as it waits for the lengthening sun to nudge it awake once more.

I wouldn’t want to live where there is no change of the seasons. Don’t get me wrong—about mid-February I’m ready for a week of Florida sunshine, but while Endless Summer may make for a good movie, it’s not my idea of a good life. The weatherman tells us we’ve seen the last of our 80 degree days, that we should expect temperatures in the sixties with cool nights for sleeping. I’ll need to grease the tractor, change the oil in my bike and truck, get wood in, change to winter tires, and get the vehicles undercoated. And pick and process grapes—can’t forget that. In more tropical areas, some of that is completely unnecessary, and the for the rest, there’s no hurry. But we Northerners know there is a time and season for everything, and that tasks put off till the last minute have a way of turning on you, making your life miserable.

We have the rest of September, all of October, and who knows how much of November before it all needs to be done. So I give thanks for this cool September day and for the reminder that change isn’t bad; it’s part of life. But it comes from our God who never changes in his love for us. I’m sure I’ll need to remember that before the year is out.

Debt No More!

September 21, 2018

If we pay attention to life, we can learn a lot about God. I’ve been thinking about my friend’s debt which I cancelled. When I texted him telling him that the debt was forgiven, he wrote back telling me his plan for paying it off. I wrote back, “You didn’t understand my note. You don’t owe me anything. You are free of the debt. It’s cancelled. You owe me nothing. If you give me anything, I’ll just give it back. The money is yours, not mine.”

He wrote back once more. “If there’s is anything I can help you with, let me know.” It isn’t an easy concept to grasp. A debt forgiven can’t be repaid. The debt no longer exists. We have this desire to keep the playing field even; you do good to me, and I do good to you. You hurt me, I hurt you. We spend a great deal of our lives trying to make things fair. As long as there is an indebtedness, some measure of fairness can be obtained. I’m in debt, so I pay my installments. If I get behind, I pay a penalty. When it comes to finances, we love the idea of being released from the debt as long as it is an indebtedness to an institution. But when it is another flesh and blood human being, we want to keep things even so that person has no power over us. 

So it is in the spiritual realm also. Through Jesus Christ’s death on the cross, God cancelled the debt my sin had incurred. He forgave me, cancelled the debt. He didn’t merely offer a grace period after which I must resume paying. The wages of sin is death (Romans 3:23). Jesus paid that debt. It no longer exists. No matter what I do, I can’t repay God because it is impossible to pay on a debt that is no more. 

So what can we do? We can repent, receive forgiveness, and change our lives. Repentance doesn’t earn us anything; it merely places us in a position to receive the forgiveness God has already given. We can’t pay it back. But we can pay it forward, by sharing the Good News of salvation and freedom from sin-indebtedness through faith in Jesus Christ. And we can give thanks for God’s unspeakably great Gift—Jesus Christ, his Son.

Laughter

September 20, 2018

All I said was, “They’re hot cross buns.” Across the room, my mother sat in her recliner shaking, tears running down her cheeks, choking down the laughter that rolled from her from her shoulders to her feet. Hardly any sound came out as she continued to be convulsed with amusement in spite of her best efforts to hold it in.

Later in the day, we sat having dinner with our granddaughter Abi. As I said the same words, behind her sweatshirt pulled up to her dancing eyes, a smile split her face from ear to ear. She too, tried unsuccessfully to hide her glee. “I can’t believe you said that,” she finally gasped out. 

If you can believe me, it was an innocent comment referring to Linda’s jeans which had big Xs embroidered on the seat pockets. We were celebrating mom’s 96th birthday with lots of love and laughter. I can’t prove it, but I suspect laughter is a pretty good gauge of love. It’s pretty hard to laugh when you aren’t loved. But where love abounds, laughter is a safe bet. From lunch to supper, we did a lot of it, my brother and sister in law, my sister, ourselves and my mother. Along the way on a more serious note, I learned for the first time that mom met dad when she was in ninth grade, beginning a romance that lasted for more than seventy years before dad passed away in 2012. As in any home, we had our share of tears, hurts, and disappointments. But we also laughed.

Some years ago in a conversation with our son Matthew, we asked what kept him from getting into some of the troubles seemingly inherent in teenagerhood. He wanted the school record in the backstroke, didn’t want to do anything that would hurt us, and “You laughed at the things we did.” Yes, we did. His and Nate’s antics were often borderline, but were almost always funny. 

When mom was 94, I once asked her how she felt. “Nothing hurts,” was her response. 

“Nothing at all?” I was incredulous.

She sat thoughtfully for a moment. “No, nothing.” The English is seventeenth century, but still speaks truth; “A merry heart doeth good like medicine.” (Proverbs 17:22). I believe it. Mom’s 96 years are good evidence of it, and I am thankful for all the yuk-yuks, belly laughs, chortles, and chuckles that have filled my life for so many years.

Control

September 19, 2018

I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s post. It’s not really about money; it’s about control. We’ve given away far more than the sum I lent my friend, but when I give to charities or individuals, I get to choose to whom and how much. I am in control. I give, and it’s over. Lending money puts an entirely different dynamic into play, making a connection between the lender and the borrower that remains until the debt is paid. Usually it is the lender who is in control, but when the borrower fails to keep his end of the bargain, the power dynamics change.

Fact is, I don’t like not being in control, and that is exactly what God was trying to teach me. Christianity is all about yielding control of our lives into the hands of a loving and merciful God, but a God who plays by a different set of rules. He makes demands that often seem unreasonable or counterintuitive. He says we must die to self that Christ may live in us. Humanly speaking, how does that make any sense? It doesn’t. Any more than loving our enemies, blessing those who curse us, doing good to those who do us ill. All this however, is central to the Gospel. I cannot know God’s will until like Jesus, I’ve prayed, “Not my will, but thine be done.”

The odd thing about this is, once I made the decision to forgive the debt, to yield control to the debtor, I not only was free, but I was back in control. The unholy bonds that tied us together and are now replaced by the holy bond of forgiveness and love. I am able to pray for him in an entirely different frame of mind.

There is another dimension to this episode. We control what belongs to us. When our children were growing up, Linda and I had control over them (I know, any parent of teenagers will tell you that’s an illusion). We guided their decisions, corrected them when they stepped across the line. We could do that because they were our children. We had no right to do that with anyone else’s children. What is ours, is ours to control. But one of the Biblical insights we too often forget is that none of what we have is ours. Everything belongs to God who in grace and mercy entrusts us to use for good what he has placed in our hands. My money isn’t mine; it’s God’s. He graciously gives me 90% for my use, reserving a mere 10% for himself. That’s better than Uncle Sam! When I keep any part of that 10%, I am robbing God of what is rightfully his. And of the 90% he entrusts to me, I will someday have to give an accounting for what I’ve done with it.

This incident reminds me whose it is (God’s), and who is really in control (again, God). I am thankful again tonight for the freedom that comes when we see life through his eyes. In freedom, I will sleep well tonight.

Cancelled!

September 18, 2018

Our men’s Bible study last night dealt with how as Christians we think about money. At the conclusion, pastor Joe asked us to think about our attitudes and what God might be saying to us. I’ve been doing just that.

Four years ago, I lent a considerable amount of money to a friend in need. He promised to pay it back in a few months. Those months went by, as did many more. He repeatedly told me he would begin paying me, but never did. He started avoiding me, and eventually just dropped out of sight and sadly, out of church. In my mind, I determined that I wasn’t going to ask him about it; after all, Scripture tells us to lend without thought of return (Luke 6:35). Most of the time it didn’t bother me, but every once in awhile, it popped back into consciousness, and I would find myself getting irritated and resentful. This was supposed to be a loan, not a gift. The issue wasn’t the money as much as it was my friend’s dishonesty. God has blessed us, and although it would be nice to have it repaid, I don’t need it. 

Last night’s challenge prompted me to finally put this whole thing to rest, so I wrote to my friend, releasing him from his debt. I needed to put it in writing before I could really let it go. Sometimes we need to draw a line in the sand, to make a clear and public declaration, whether it’s finances or faith. It’s too easy to deceive ourselves into believing we’ve dealt with something just because we’ve thought it and prayed it through. The reality is, until a commitment is public, it is meaningless. 

There is a blessing in all this: I am finally free of this unholy bondage to that debt. The Scripture says that the borrower is slave to the lender (Proverbs 22:7). In my case, it was the other way around. Tonight however, those chains have been broken, and I am free. Praise be to God!

No Matter How I Feel

September 17, 2018

Everyone has those days when the thought of going to work just sucks the joy out of you. It’s not that the work is so hard or the people so bad; it would just be easier and pleasant to stay home. Unfortunately, there are too many people who choose that easier route, making life more difficult for the rest of us. Fortunately, there are many more who whether they feel like it or not, decide to roll out of bed and go to work. And if they look hard enough, they can find a blessing in the most mundane of tasks.

I didn’t feel like going to work today. Technically, I’m retired and can choose to do whatever I want, but last May, I chose to continue pulpit supply in Dunkirk. That decision three months ago is what made me get up and go to work this morning. I’m so glad I did. Before the morning was out, I had lengthy conversations with two different people; one who is faithfully serving the Lord and his church in Dunkirk, the other, one of our Willow Mission clients. The latter conversation in particular, made it worth getting up and going to work.

I had stopped over to his house a few weeks ago, leaving a note when I found him not at home. He wanted to talk when he came into the mission today, so I invited him to sit for awhile. He told me how he needed to get his life together. He’s all alone, with no family in the area, and his friends are not a good influence on him. From his conversation, it’s apparent that he’s had some sort of Christian training, but has walked away from it, describing himself as having a foot in two different worlds. I told him he couldn’t stay that way forever, and needed to decide which world he wanted to be in. He knows. “I have no purpose,” he told me. But choosing to leave behind the familiar, even when it is destructive, is not easy. He didn’t make a commitment to Christ today, but we talked, and hopefully he will be back. 

It’s conversations like this that get me up in the morning, and when I’d rather stay home, these encounters keep me coming back. I’m thankful for the opportunity to talk with a man about Jesus, and to hold him before the Lord in prayer tonight. Small steps they might be, but still, we’re walking!

Commitment

September 24, 2018

A few weeks ago, Pastor Joe asked if I would be a part of the special building campaign kickoff service today, and I told him I would. Some weeks earlier, Big Bob, our campaign consultant, had mentioned that one of the possibilities for the campaign would be for someone to write a theme song for it. I must confess that having said that, the entire rest of the time he was preaching, I was writing. Before the service was over, most of it was written. Pastor Joe wanted me to be able to teach the song to the congregation.

So this morning, having arranged for someone to handle the service in Dunkirk, for the first time in over a year I found myself up on stage with the worship team, looking out upon the congregation gathered in Sinclairville in the name of Christ. The sanctuary was filled to overflowing, children were running around, people were cheering as we lifted our voices in song and listened to the testimonies of some who have already committed themselves to sacrificial giving. 

Twenty years ago, I led the congregation in a similar campaign to raise money for the building we now occupy. I remember the work, the overwhelming sense of responsibility, and even the fear, wondering if we could actually accomplish our dream. “Once was enough,” was echoing through my mind as we prayed for the people this morning. Apparently, I was wrong. 

Being the former pastor of this congregation, I’ve deliberately stepped into the shadows, taking on no formal responsibilities. I’ve seen too many times when former pastors try to run things from the sidelines, and it never turns out well. Stepping aside has its own challenges however, some of which I knew would come, and others that surprised me. The one that surprised me most has to do with this building project. Before, I was right in the thick of planning, and the involvement fed my enthusiasm. This time around, I’ve had mixed emotions about it. I wasn’t sure if it was because I didn’t really believe in it or if it was because I wasn’t really involved in it. Today I realized it was the latter. 

I listened as the campaign leaders said some of the same things we had said twenty years ago. “This isn’t for us; it’s for our kids and grandkids, and people we don’t even know.” I remember saying those exact words, and now I heard them from the mouths of young adults who back then were part of “the people we didn’t even know.”

Pastor Joe and Leslie shared about the process of deciding how much to give. “We don’t have any extra cash, so we are giving our raises for the next three years.” Exactly the same as Linda and I did twenty years ago when we had nothing to sell, and no margin from which to draw. It was a deja vu moment.

Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” Part of our treasure is the treasure of time. Because of my commitments to the Dunkirk congregation, I haven’t had the time to commit to what is happening in Sinclairville. But hearing the stories and seeing the people gathered is fanning that spark into flame. There is nothing quite so powerful as the witness of a life that is “all in,” especially when followed by a word that points to Jesus as the source of the commitment to serve the community. I am thankful for this witness today, and how it has touched my heart. Twenty years from now, I don’t want to look back on what is happening here and say, “I had the opportunity to be a part of it, but stood on the sidelines.” I see before me the results of the vision and sacrifice from years back, and want to do so once more before I die. All hail the power of Jesus’ Name!

Sweet Hour of Prayer

September 15, 2018

3:30 am is not normally a time I am even close to coherent. Usually, the only time I see these numerals on the clock is if I have to get up to use the bathroom. This morning was different. I had signed up for the 4:00 am time slot for our church’s 24-hour prayer vigil, so when my alarm went off, I dragged myself out of bed, threw on some clothes and headed down the road. At the front door of the church, pastor Joe greeted me and the others who had also inexplicably chosen that hour. I made a fresh pot of coffee, poured a cup and opened the door to the sanctuary which had been transformed almost into a fairyland. 

Cafe tables were scattered throughout, with a living room setting in one corner, and a park bench complete with a water fountain and flanked by evergreens in the other. Soft music was playing, and a three-ring notebook with pages of prayer requests was lying open on the table. I grabbed a few of the pages and walked over to the park bench, coffee in hand. 

We have so completely filled our lives with electronics, distractions, and unceasing labor that we have all but forgotten how to be in God’s presence for any extended length of time, but this hour of uninterrupted prayer was like a quiet soaking of a dry-sponge soul. The hour raced by; only a small fraction of the available prayer sheets were covered. I may never know how that hour impacted even one of the people for whom I prayed, but I know the effect it had on me—slowing me down, helping me focus, putting the week into perspective, and saturating this once dry soul with the life-giving waters of the Holy Spirit. If you’ve never tried something like this, I would encourage you to do so. Perhaps even a weekend retreat of silence; anything to break the vice-grip modern life holds on us. I am thankful for this hour, and look forward to the next one.

Hurricanes

September 14, 2018

Sitting by the fire in our backyard, it’s hard to imagine the storm raging through the Carolinas, leaving destruction and death in its wake. Here, stars twinkle overhead, the air is warm and still as we watch Weather Channel video showing the wind and rain and its resultant flooding. It’s dark, but the grandkids bounce on the trampoline while I watch the flame flicker and dance in the darkness. 

Praying with the kids before bed, the juxtaposition of the hurricane wreaking havoc with the peace and calm we are enjoying made me think. And pray. God’s blessings aren’t collectibles to be sitting on our spiritual shelves, to be dusted and admired. They are his investment in us, designed to multiply as we share them with others. There are people all around us going through personal storms of hurricane proportions. They’re being battered and driven before the wind and rain of adversity, but unlike hurricanes that are undeniable, these storms are often hidden beneath a stoic demeanor, wreaking their havoc in the inner recesses of heart and soul, leaving behind shattered lives. 

We prayed for the victims of the hurricane, but also for those engulfed in their own private storms, asking for eyes to see beneath the facades, and for hearts to reach out to those in need. I am thankful tonight for grandkids who are willing to wade into other people’s storms, bringing hope and help to people in need.

Concord Time

September 13, 2018

Just the faintest whiff was carried on the breeze as I topped the rise into Silver Creek yesterday morning. Had I been in the truck, I would have missed it, but there it was—an unmistakable portent of the season and the harvest to come. The Concord grapes are ripening; it will be a few weeks yet, but the sweet aroma of the vineyard filled the air, welcoming me to the village. 

Winter’s chill doesn’t deter the vinedressers who are in the fields pruning last year’s growth to the requisite six or seven canes with their buds. Springtime has its own special charm as the vines begin to bud and the vineyards slowly transform from spindly brown to lush green. But as summer wanes, the leaves turn a greenish-golden, signaling the future bounty. 

The acres of Concord that have been the staple of the grape industry in this area are the fruit of 19th Century Methodism’s Disciplinary requirement that unfermented fruit of the vine be used in Holy Communion, in turn a product of the Temperance Movement of that era. Mr. Welch made a fortune in his grape juice, which in turn, led to the proliferation of the Concord along the eastern shore of Lake Erie. Today temperance has fallen on hard times, and though Methodists still use unfermented juice for the Sacrament, the area vineyards are slowly being transformed into small scale craft wineries, with all the varieties enthusiasts have come to expect. 

But Concord is still king even though its territory is shrinking, and the fragrance of yesterday is a taste of days to come when the Bailey household will be filled with the aroma of the grapes I will be processing. Sixty or more quarts will sit in the basement cupboard before the season is over, and we will enjoy the fruit of the vine for months. I love living here where the change of seasons brings such pleasures our way, am thankful for the harvest, and for the sweet nectar we will enjoy till next year’s crop  is in.

The Bible tells us a harvest is coming when God brings in that for which he has labored for generations. Sometimes I can almost catch its faint fragrance drifting through the air, and know that the reward of all the labor will be worth it as God’s divine soul-pantry is filled and he looks with pleasure upon the work of his hands.

First Responders

September 12, 2018

Yesterday was the 17th anniversary of the Islamic terrorist attack upon the Twin Towers. It was a day of tributes and remembrances, of solemn services and I suppose in some parts of the world, of glad rejoicing. I wanted to say something, but anything I might mention would pale in comparison with the words offered by those who witnessed it firsthand or experienced the loss of a loved one, so out of respect for those for whom yesterday is still raw with emotion, I decided to wait till tonight to offer my meagre thoughts.

On our way home from Dunkirk last night, we saw red lights flashing. It was the back road, so we slowed down and hugged the berm as we passed both Cassadaga and Sinclairville rescue vehicles in the driveway of a home. The rest of the way home, I was thinking about those men and women who volunteer so much of their time to serve their neighbors without pay and without complaint. They give up countless hours to train and certify, attend weekly equipment checks, conduct fundraisers and cook barbecues for a variety of community events and causes. They never ask for, and seldom receive even a thank you for their work, all of which is given above and beyond their regular jobs.

We owe a debt of gratitude to the men and women who serve so selflessly. Many are paid, but many more are not. I live where volunteers respond to every rescue call, every fire, no matter what time of day or night. Thank you, my friends. You help make our community a better place to live.

Twist

September 11, 2018

A twist of fate always sounds ominous. A twist in the plot stokes our interest, keeping us reading, while twisting in the wind is something none of us want to do. Chubby Checker had us dancing the Twist, and seeing a young girl twisting her hair speaks either of boredom or apprehension. While helping my friend Harry wire our son’s bathroom, we twisted wires together to make sure everything was connected and grounded properly. And this morning as I was unloading my air compressor from the back of my truck, I twisted my ankle. Again. Ouch.

This time, I wasn’t trying to lift more than I should have. I was being careful, but just stepped wrong. Had I not strained it the other day, today would not have happened, and I wouldn’t be limping around again. Tonight, I am not dancing the Twist and thankfully, I’m not twisting in the wind. I don’t have enough hair to twist, and for now I’m done wiring. Some might see in this second twist of the ankle a twist of fate, but I prefer to look for a twist in the plot that opens up new possibilities as I have to slow my pace a bit and at least temporarily shuffle my way through life. I may lag behind a bit, but I hope that doesn’t leave me twisting in the wind. Maybe instead, I could get a chocolate twist ice cream cone. That would make me happy. And thankful.

Choosing Gratitude

September 10, 2018

Gratitude is not a feeling. It’s a choice, a way of looking at life in its glory and also in its drudgery and dismay. For whatever reason, I’ve felt rather subdued today. Perhaps it has something to do with listening to various people and the often troubled and tragic experiences they are having. Over the past few days, Linda and I have witnessed a number of situations, listened to people’s worries and fears, talked them through circumstances they are helpless to change, prayed with them and for them.

We are honored to be invited into people’s lives, to be entrusted with secrets and sins, failures and fears, and we are continually amazed at people’s resiliency and faith in the face of seemingly unconquerable mountains. We are humbled as we watch people pick up the shattered pieces of their lives and keep moving ahead in spite of the unknown and lack of spiritual, emotional, and often physical resources. 

People who have made bad choices that are coming back to haunt them, people who have been dealt one of life’s bum hands, people who in spite of their difficulties keep ministering to others—I bow before them. And in light of their sorrow and pain, while I cannot say I am happy, I am grateful. Grateful to know them, grateful to serve alongside them, grateful to have been chosen to be a confidante. I am blessed to play even a small role in their lives, and pray that whatever I say or do will be an encouragement, a stepping stone instead of a stumbling block.