Small/Great Blessings

August 31, 2019

Sore muscles are a good thing. They tell me I’ve expended considerable energy today, which is good for the metabolism and for the soul, without having to resort to an exercise routine. Unlike a gym workout, today’s work used the muscles I actually need to do stuff. Of course, if next week I accomplish some other physical task, it will be a different set of muscles that get the workout. Recently, I’ve had issues with my hands, especially my left hand. If I touch my thumb to my little finger, I get a shot of pain bursting through my wrist and up my arm. It’s not all that bad; just enough to tell me to back off. I think I have as much strength in that hand as ever, but the pain in that thumb makes me not want to test it out. Nevertheless, today I split and with Linda and little Nathan’s help, stacked about two cord of wood.

It’s never hard to get work out of Nathan. At eleven years old, all I have to do is suggest a job that requires driving the tractor, especially if bucket work is involved. We loaded from the pile in the side yard (remnants of the dead trees we had taken down last week), drove to the back yard, where each load was stacked at the edge of the lawn. All stacked, I hopped in the bucket while Nathan drove me back to the pile. He didn’t dump me, although at times the ride was a bit bumpy. He does like to drive fast. All done, he even put the tractor in the garage without hitting the door jambs. At the end, he was a bit richer, but so were we.

So here I sit, waiting for when it’s time to head out to Linda’s sister for their annual Labor Day corn roast. I can feel my hands, but when I reflect upon good friends who are dealing with cancer and family matters, and others who have found themselves catapulted into the uncertainty of not knowing how they’ll be able to pay their rent, I am humbled by the minuscule bumps in my road. Every time I talk with someone who is walking through their dark valley, I am made aware that life can change in a heartbeat, and am grateful for even small blessings. For so many others, my small blessings would be the cause of major rejoicing. 

The Whirlwind Cometh

August 30, 2019

“Ding dong, ding dong!” The quiet evening I was enjoying has just been shattered. The ringing of the doorbell in our house is usually indication that granddaughter Izzi is either coming or going. This time, she is coming. Linda left about an hour ago to pick her up from work; I stayed behind to finish splitting the wood I had chunked up earlier today from the dead trees a friend felled Saturday before we left on vacation. That being done, it was time to sit, read, and write. I did the first two and had started on the third when Izzi made her grand entry. Sister Jo was with her, but arrived with much less fanfare.

Neither had yet eaten, so Linda thawed some of her spaghetti sauce, cooked up the pasta, and had a healthy dinner ready for them in about a half hour. We sat at the kitchen table while they talked of their day and of their plans for tomorrow. Izzi had forgotten that the swim team was hosting a pancake breakfast fund raiser in the morning, and needed to be there early. Jo wasn’t eager to get up quite that early, seeing as she had been up since 6:00 am for a volleyball tournament. 

Their spaghetti devoured, we were the recipients of their hugs and “love you’s before the whirlwind swept out the door, ringing the bell on the way, accompanied by her much more sedate sister. Linda took them both home while I finished writing. The entire episode was over in less than an hour. It’s all pretty normal for us, perhaps mundane, but a gift for which I am thankful tonight—grandkids near enough for us to be a part of their lives. 

U Turns

August 29, 2019

We must have set a record for the most U-turns in a single four day vacation. There was hardly an exit I didn’t miss, a road I didn’t drive down aways and turn around. Maybe once, or perhaps twice, my navigator didn’t warn me in time, but most of the time I just wasn’t paying attention. 

The last U-turn was a doozy. We were heading north on Route 79 south of Erie, needing to make the exit to 90 and home. I’ve driven that road dozens of times without incident, but this time... You guessed it—Next thing I knew, we were driving down Route 79 into downtown Erie; not where we wanted to be. We ended up in sections of the city I’d never seen before, but fortunately, I understand the basic layout of the streets and was able without further wrong turns to get us on Peach Street and back to Route 90. It was a bit of a delay, but 49 years of marriage has taught us a few things, and we both laughed it off. At least I think she was laughing.

It did get me to thinking. Sometimes we make a bad turn because we don’t know where we are going. If you don’t have a goal, any old road will do. But this time, I knew where I wanted to be; I knew what road would take me there. What I didn’t know was where I was. 

I wonder how often I’ve tried to share the Gospel with someone, showing them the right goal, ie. eternal life in Christ by faith. They see the goal; they even see the road it takes to get there, but if they don’t know where they are, they’ll miss it every time. The problem with much modern evangelism is we want to be too gentle with people. We don’t like hurting anyone’s feelings, don’t want them to not like us, so we sugarcoat the Gospel with talk about all God wants to do for them, but fail to help them see where they are right now—sinners in need of a Savior. We’re afraid of being called judgmental, rigid, legalistic, but if someone doesn’t  know where he is right now, he’ll assume he’s already on the right road. 

Linda told me just now that there was a message on our answering machine. My doctor wants to schedule my annual checkup. I feel pretty good, but if he finds something wrong and doesn’t tell me because he’s afraid of hurting my feelings, he’s not a very good doctor. I need to know if my body is on the wrong road. In the same way, the people to whom we are sent need to know—without any sense of judgment or superiority—if they are on the wrong road. The beauty of the Gospel is that God allows U-turns, repeatedly, if necessary. We made plenty of them over these past four days, and have now reached our goal: we’re back home where we belong.

Answering Your Own Prayers

August 28, 2019

“Lord, bless this breakfast and this day. Lead us to people we can bless in the Name of Jesus.” Those may not be the exact words, but they’re pretty close. Linda and I pray these sentiments every time we share a meal together. I pray this way because I am so often pretty dense when it comes to discerning the opportunities God gives me to speak blessing into peoples’ lives. Some years ago we learned the “Three Open Prayer:” “Open doors; Open my heart; Open my mouth.” If any one of those doors remains shut, nothing happens. 

We parked by the side of the fence surrounding the Italianate Victorian mansion that was to be our Bed & Breakfast tonight. The photos online were exquisite, and we were looking forward to a bit of luxury after two nights at Best Western. We were greeted at the door by a little special needs girl who struggled to get the door open. Her grandmother came to her rescue, struggling herself with the lock, but finally making the huge door yield to her will. The house is beautiful, but they’re in the beginning stages of bringing it up to speed. It needs some TLC, and as it turned out, so did the proprietor. 

She is pastor of a small, struggling Pentecostal congregation in the next town over. A church member she had invested in had turned on her amidst an affair he was having. She confessed to having protected him to the detriment of the flock as he did everything in his power to discredit her and talk people into leaving the church. It was as Yogi Berra once said, “Deja Vu all over again,” except for the part where they watched last year as their home burnt to the ground, taking all their possessions with it. She took great pride in this new home God had provided for her and her family, but was clearly hurting from the betrayal and abandonment she had experienced. She bared her soul which was still bleeding profusely, and we listened.

I shared with her our experience of fifteen years ago, offered what encouragement I could, and prayed for her. Unexpectedly, our breakfast prayer had been answered, for which I am thankful this night as I finally shut my eyes.

Hamm

August 27, 2019

“If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?” (Psalm11:3). Linda and I spent the day at the Ark Encounter, a full-size replica of Noah’s Ark envisioned by Ken Hamm, noted apologist for the Christian faith and a Young Earth Creationism. Surprisingly to me, it’s been a fascinating day; not something I’ve been anxiously awaiting, but it turned out to be quite educational. Towards the end of the afternoon, Mr. Hamm himself presented a lecture on his approach to Bible interpretation and to interaction with the philosophies of the secular world.

At one point, he told the story of being invited to speak at the University of Oklahoma, then having the invitation rescinded due to pressure brought by the LGBTQIA+ cadre. Local reaction was so intense that his initial invitation was restored with the result that he ended up speaking to a much larger crowd than otherwise would have been possible. The opposition was out in full force, expecting and perhaps hoping for a stereotypical presentation and reaction. He disappointed them.

As he explained to us, his Christian ethic comes from a worldview based on the Bible. The Church in his opinion, too often tries to argue Christian ethic from a secular world view, which never works. He admits the logic of those who come from a different foundation to a different ethic, but that by starting with a Biblical foundation, he just as logically comes to a different conclusion. His concern for the Church is that as our society retreats from the Christian worldview, the Christian ethic will necessarily retreat with it, and that it is this worldview that is being taught in our schools, and often, even in our churches. It does not bode well for our children.

He put into words what I have often struggled to comprehend, and ignited in me a desire to dig deeper into Scripture and into the study of the world around me. The Bible says Creation shows forth God’s handiwork, giving testimony to his existence and power. I’m discovering that it’s no longer enough to merely proclaim Scripture; it’s necessary to establish its reliability and authority in a secular world, giving the Holy Spirit something to work with in the mind and heart of the unbeliever. I guess I retired at just the right time, so I can devote the time to this endeavor, not just to tickle my fancy, but hopefully, to help prepare a new generation to meet the challenges of the day. I am thankful tonight to have the tools and resources available for such an endeavor.

Lost

August 26, 2019

What would a road trip be without an unexpected detour that takes you from urban bumper-to-bumper stop-and-go interstate, through a poorly marked trek through urban decay? The word ‘heavenly’ comes to mind, a word that was notoriously absent from my vocabulary as we crawled our way through rush hour traffic. Why anyone thought to call it rush hour is a mystery; there’s nothing ‘rush’ about it unless it refers to the spike in one’s blood pressure through the ordeal. 

A lifetime ago when Linda and I would drive from seminary in Chicago to spend some time back home with family, we had to go through Cleveland. They were in the process of building the 271 bypass around the city, and every time we went through, there was another detour in which we inevitably made a wrong turn that took us somewhere between 2:00 and 3:00 am through the worst parts of the city. GPS hadn’t been invented yet, so we had to rely on AAA’s city maps, Linda reading by flashlight as we crept through seedy neighborhoods, with doors locked, windows up no matter how hot it was with no air conditioning. I don’t think there was a single time we went through Cleveland without getting lost. 

Of course, the mother of all getting lost was on the move to Chicago. I was driving a U-Haul, towing our ‘66 Falcon. Linda would meet me at the airport with the boys in two days, so I was navigating alone. At night. I crossed into Ohio, headed west and making good time for three hours...until I saw the sign, “Welcome to Pennsylvania.” Three hours (six, if you count backtracking) and who knows how many miles wasted at 2:00 am. It was a long drive to Chicago.

These days, we have GPS. From the dedicated Garmin to the app on our phone, it’s not perfect (after all, it didn’t warn me of the vehicular boondoggle in Cincinnati this afternoon), but although the rain and traffic made it somewhat of a nail-biter, it did get us to our destination, for which I am thankful tonight. 

As a footnote, God gave us a divine GPS in the Bible. It even guides lost travelers back to the right path and home. Instead of “recalibrating,” it says, “repent and believe.” It sees every detour and works every time. 

One Last Job

August 25, 2019

Sometimes when reading the Bible, it helps to ask, “Where am I in this story?” After all, these particular stories weren’t chosen for their historical value, but for what they can tell us about ourselves, our world, and our God. Over the last couple weeks, the stories of Elijah and Elisha have caught my attention and imagination. They pushed me to ask myself what I want from God—what big and difficult request I would ask. I can’t ask yet because I am at a crossroad in my life where I don’t know my own heart; what I really want. This past week, these stories have made me wonder if I’ve adequately burned my bridges, letting go of the past so I can follow God’s path for me. When Elijah called Elisha, the latter set fire to his livelihood so he wouldn’t be tempted to return if the going got rough. 

I thought about that this morning. Sometimes the past we need to release contains the guilt or regret that nips at our heels when we launch out in new and life-affirming ways. The devil loves to drag us down; we need to be able to point to a pile of ashes—the guilt, fear, and regret we have burned at the altar of repentance and confession.

Today, I’ve been thinking of Elijah. The pinnacle of his career he now saw in the rear view mirror. He had won a major victory over the 450 priests of Baal, only to be chased out of the country by the vengeful and dangerous queen Jezebel, whose name to this day is synonymous with evil. Elijah had expended an enormous amount of spiritual and physical energy, and was completely spent. God sent him on a vacation for some R&R, but at the end twice asked Elijah what he was doing feeling sorry for himself. Elijah had been telling God how overworked and under appreciated he felt, but God was having none of it. 

Elijah thought he was all washed up, but God had one last job for him. It involved training a successor. This resonates with me. In some ways, my best and most productive years are probably behind me. For better or worse, I pastored a church for more than 30 years. I cut my teeth on a couple small congregations prior to what turned out to be my life’s work, and have had the privilege of leading another in retirement. Today was my last Sunday. It would be tempting to, like Elijah, look back at the glory days of the past, but I haven’t yet anointed my Elisha. I’m listening as carefully as I can, and looking forward to finding and fulfilling this, my next calling. Or perhaps I am Elisha, and need to wait for my Elijah to come walking by...

Don’t Quit

August 24, 2019

Yesterday I wrote about knowing what we want so we can ask God for big answers. We often pray little prayers because we don’t know what we really want. When Elijah asked Elisha what he wanted, Elisha was ready with a big ask. I wonder what I would have said?

Bold prayers don’t just spring up from nowhere. They are rooted in the soil of faith and faithfulness. Before the question is asked, there is a back story. Elijah and Elisha were walking along together. Three different times as they walked from village to village, they came upon “schools of prophets,” groups of apprentices who were learning the ropes, but not quite ready to step out on their own. At each village, Elijah told him, “Stay here.” Each time, Elisha refused.  At each place, the apprentices asked him, “Don’t you know your master is leaving you today?” Elisha did know, and kept walking.

Elisha’s big ask came on the heels of his big loyalty. Three times he was given the option of turning back. The other prophets stood at a distance while he walked on. He chose to stay close by Elijah’s side, listening and learning, gleaning every bit of wisdom that might happen to fall from the master’s lips. Instead of staying with the crowd, he walked on alone...almost. 

Asking big things of God doesn’t happen in a vacuum. There must be a willingness to stand out from the crowd, to ignore the temptation to stop moving forward. The crowd you have reason to believe is with you may in fact, be the ones questioning your calling, looking to bring you down. Those who have never asked big things think it’s foolish when you do, because they’ve never stood apart from the crowd.

I’m still learning what it means to ignore the distractions and to reject the invitations to turn back, and am grateful that even at my age, God is still in the business of testing my resolve, giving me those invitations to quit, but even more, the opportunity to keep going and ask big.

What Do You Want?

August 23, 2019

“What do you want me to do for you?” It must have sounded absurd.

“Isn’t it obvious?” would have been an entirely understandable answer. Two blind men who had heard about this man Jesus and the things he had been doing. How could he ask such a dumb question in response to their plea, “Son of David, have mercy on us!”? Is he the blind one here? 

And yet, Jesus asked the obvious, not because he didn’t know, but because they needed to give voice to their deepest desire.

When Elijah was about to be taken up into heaven, he told Elisha, “Ask! What may I do for you before I am taken away from you?” When Elisha asked for a double portion of Elijah’s spirit, Elijah responded, “You have asked a difficult thing. Nevertheless...”

I wonder how much of what God wants to give never happens because we’re afraid to ask difficult things of God. We’re somehow afraid his reputation will be sullied if we ask and he doesn’t answer. Even more telling, I wonder how much of what God wants to give us we fail to receive because we don’t know ourselves what we want. Psalm 37:4 says, “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” It doesn’t say he will give us the desires of his heart, but of ours. He’s not like the overbearing parent who says, “You don’t know what’s good for you, so even though you want this, I’ll give you that.”

The only condition is that we first delight ourselves in the Lord. When our heart beats in unison with God’s, he delights in giving us what we want because we would never want anything other than what he would want. The problem is, we don’t know what we want enough to ask for it. Our prayers are bland and proper, but rarely bold. We ask for little things when God wants to give big things. We splash around in the shallow end of God’s grace and power when he is calling us to launch out into the deep where we cannot touch bottom, but where we may learn the magnitude of his power and love. And all the while, we think we’re being holy because we wouldn’t dare presume upon God.

It looks like I’ll soon be easing into retirement once more. Jesus’ question bothers me. What do I really want? What difficult thing do I want from God? To be honest, right now, I don’t know. I only know this: I don’t want to someday stand before Jesus and hear him inquire, “Why didn’t you ask for more?”

Big Dreams

August 22, 2019

I’ve been listening to an audio book that challenges the reader to give everything one has into living fully the life God calls us to live. The author cites example after example of ordinary people who faced incredible challenges and despite every obstacle imaginable, overcame and rose to the top. They are inspiring stories that challenge me to keep pressing on to the finish line. But something keeps niggling in the back of my mind. 

In one of the chapters, the author makes the case that no one can become all God has called him to be without bringing others alongside to help make the dream come true. I’ve experienced that myself. I tend to be a Lone Ranger; I’m an introvert, and prefer being by myself to being with others. But when we began our building project some twenty years ago, there was no way I could have done it by myself. It was my dream, but I had to convince others of it’s importance, and enlist others to give, to serve, to sacrifice. As the motto says, “Teamwork made the Dream Work.”

The author of this particular book told the Biblical story of David and his mighty men, using it to illustrate his point that David could not have fulfilled his God-given role apart from these men. He told the story as an encouragement for the reader to build his own support team who could make the dream come true. 

But if everyone has their own dream, who decides which one takes precedence? David had his Benaiah, son of Jehoiada, his Joab and Asahel; even Uriah the Hittite, whom he betrayed. Didn’t those men have their own dreams? 

My point is, not everyone in this world will overcome his circumstances. Life is a battle, and every battle has its casualties. We often speak of great leaders, but every great leader except Jesus Christ leaves behind a trail of the blood and tears of those who helped him rise to the top. I’m at the stage in my life when I realize I won’t accomplish some of the great plans I once had. I just hope I didn’t leave too many casualties in my wake. 

My name will never go into the history books, but I’m OK with that. I’ve tried to be faithful with what God gave me. I’ve dreamed big and dreamed too small. I’ve dreamed big, worked hard, succeeded, and failed. It’s all in God’s hands, which is enough for me to be thankful tonight.

Abi

August 21, 2019

In just a few days, granddaughter #2 will head back to college for her sophomore year. Tonight, I took her out to dinner as a going-away gift to myself. We tried two different Fredonia restaurants before finding one that was open. The first only opens Thursday through Saturday, the second closed at 7:00 pm, and since she didn’t get off work till 6:00, that didn’t work. What did work was restaurant #3, where we had a great meal and wonderful conversation at a small table by the window. Towards the end of our meal, she noticed a man sitting on the sidewalk across the street, decided he looked homeless, and that she would give him the two remaining chicken fingers she had in a take home box. 

We crossed the road, she approached and offered him her meal. “What do I want that for?” he asked somewhat belligerently. “You eat some first!” When Abi remonstrated that she had already eaten, he grew increasingly agitated, insisting she eat some, and that he would have to pay her for it. He offered her a smoke, and when she declined, he responded with, “You think you’re better than me?” He returned to insisting she eat the meal she was offering him, then broke a twig with leaves off the bush next to him, stuffed it in his mouth, chewing and laughing maniacally. We finally walked away, with him laughing behind us as we crossed the street. We got in my truck, and by the time we had exited the parking lot, he was gone. 

A bluegrass group was performing in the park, so we stopped to listen to a few numbers before heading home. As we passed through Cassadaga, I asked if she was up for some ice cream, knowing full well that was an offer she wouldn’t refuse. After ordering, we sat in the gazebo and talked for almost an hour, about life, love, faith, relationships, and family. Listening to her heart was a rare pleasure, one few grandparents get to have. This girl who once wanted to build a house in her dad’s backyard is excited about going back to school. 

Before we had some work done on the stairway in the living room, we had photos on the stairwell wall, one of which was a collage of Linda and myself with Abi when she was between two and three years old. We are walking away from the photographer holding Abi’s hands as she swings between us, feet high in the air. I remember that day, and wondering what she would be like when grown up. Tonight, I know. Before dropping her off at her home, I asked what she would like me to pray for as she went back to college. She told me, then asked how she could pray for me. “Why don’t we pray now?” she asked. So we did. We held hands as we prayed for each other before she gave me a big hug and her customary, “Love you,” before hopping out of the truck. I don’t know how any grandfather could be more blessed or thankful than I am tonight as I watched and listened to this beautiful young woman open her heart to this old man.

Transition

August 20, 2019

In a relay, the runner with the baton begins handing it off while still running, and the one receiving the baton starts running before actually grasping it. There are those yards where the two of them are in the lane together, doing their best to make a solid transferral while keeping the forward momentum. Two mistakes they must avoid: stopping the momentum and dropping the baton. The transfer is the critical moment of the race.

Once more, I find myself in a time of transition. I am still running as hard as these old legs will carry me, but I’m also reaching forward, baton in hand as my successor picks up the pace and reaches back. Transition is often where the race is won or lost. I have a good, strong young runner in front of me. One last stretch, and I’ll start backing off so he can run. Circumstances will necessitate me staying in the loop for the foreseeable future, but it’s getting time for me to see what new race lies before me. I’m not yet ready to join the onlookers in the grandstands, but also don’t yet know what my next event will be. Whatever it is, I am grateful to be still in the game with plenty of determination. 

Certainly, there are times I think it would be nice to slow down a bit, but I think that will take care of itself when the time comes. I like to think of Colonel Sanders, whose real success didn’t come till he was in his sixties. Or Moses, who was eighty when he led Israel out of Egypt. Or Grandma Moses, who didn’t achieve acclaim for her painting till she was 78. Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally have time to practice my bassoon and compile my musings into a book. Tonight I am thankful for this new transition and the opportunities it affords both to me and to the Dunkirk congregation. God has, as he always does, good things in store.

Treetop Light

August 19, 2019

The tops of the firs in front of our house are ablaze in sunlight, spikes of green against a cloudless blue sky, while further down, the evening shadows from the hill behind me are already climbing steadily up their trunks. The maple to my right is cloaked in a slowly fading day. Warmth that bathed my face only an hour ago has yielded to a faint cooling breeze. The bullfrog in the remnants of the pond opposite the driveway hasn’t yet struck up his song, galunking his seductive melody to whichever missus might be hopping by, but the crickets are in full chorus. My ears can only faintly pick out the sighing of the stream behind the garage.

It’s been an odd day, beginning ordinarily enough, having a leisurely breakfast with my wife and going to work before having one last fellowship meal with my friend George before he heads south tomorrow. At our ages, neither of us wants to think about what we both know—we may never see each other again, but at our ages, neither are we afraid to face reality. We’ve both seen things we wish we could unsee, and have traveled down roads better left less traveled. This is one of those roads, but travel it, we must, and travel it, we will.

A trip into town to replace the hearing aid that gave up the ghost last week proved futile, as the latest program that needs to be downloaded to it happens to reside in the computer at their other office in Westfield. I did manage to pick up the groceries on Linda’s list, however, and to got it all put away in her absence, as she is at pregnancy counseling training. Grandson Ian just left after applying the polyurethane to the keyboard tray of the computer desk he’s building, and I am just about ready to drive down to our men’s group at church. Emma is chasing and barking at some imagined intruder down at the creek. All is well. 

History is filled with people who one moment surveyed with peace and satisfaction what little realm they had, and the next, found themselves caught up in whirlwinds of tragedy and sorrow. I take none of this for granted. God hasn’t promised unbroken happiness and prosperity. He has promised his presence, guidance, peace, and strength for the paths we must walk. I am one of the fortunate few whose trail has led through primarily peaceful places. I hope to be faithful when the road turns to wind through the shadows. Like the trees towering above me, may my head remain bathed in sunlight even as the shadows surround me. And may I always remain thankful for days like today.

Connections

August 18, 2019

Loneliness and alienation are the curse of this generation. I read recently that 20% of Millenials can’t name a single friend. For a generation that is supposed to be the most connected in history, that is a significant indictment. The social media which was supposed to bring us together has instead divided us as we hide behind its anonymity while berating and arguing with people we’ve never met. The systems and organizations upon which a civilized society is built have been largely jettisoned—social clubs, civic organizations, churches, volunteer fire departments, and even families, are all struggling to survive, robbing people of the face-to-face connections through which we learn how to cooperate, compromise, and resolve conflict without resorting to threats, insults, or violence. 

This morning, I had the privilege of worshipping with two different congregations, meeting people, talking, laughing, listening to their stories...connecting with flesh-and-blood people. Had there been no songs, no prayers, no sermon, I would still have been blessed by the connections. 

This afternoon, I joined the Walk for Life, sponsored by Options Care Center, raising money for their pregnancy care ministry. My wife and I spent a pleasant afternoon, meeting people of like mind...connecting. And in the evening, we received a phone call from our granddaughter away at college, helped our grandson put the finishing touches on the keyboard tray for his computer desk, and sat and talked with each other. 

I know people who don’t have that much positive face-to-face contact with people in an entire month. These connections are soul-strengtheners, building me up, encouraging me, making me a better man. I am grateful for each person I met today. They did more for me than they could imagine. 

Robbing God

August 17, 2019

Context is everything. A lifetime ago, Warren Wolsey, a professor of New Testament who taught a course on the life of Christ at Houghton College, left one of his classes with this little gem: “A text without a context is a pretext.” Taking Scripture out of context to prove a point or bolster a prejudice is nothing new. When we find a verse that jumps out at us, it’s often tempting to extrapolate from it all sorts of things that were never intended when it was written. The “Prosperity Gospel” and “Name it and Claim it” preachers are masters of such misinterpretation. The only way to avoid such mistakes is to pay attention to the context of those favorite verses.

Malachi is last prophet of the Old Testament, ministering about 400 B.C. Almost the first words out of his mouth are, ““I have loved you,” says the LORD.” He then turns to his audience, “Yet you say, “In what way have you loved us?”” The Babylonian Captivity had made them question God’s love for them, and even returning to their land 70 years later had not done much to build up their faith. Such unbelief has consequences that spread like a crack in your windshield, obscuring the visibility you need to avoid a wreck.

In chapter 3, God states that his people have robbed him. They had a hard time believing this; after all, how can someone rob God? He tells them: “In tithes and offerings.” They had neglected to give God the first tenth of everything they earned and owned. God is generous, letting us keep 90%, but said that one tenth belonged to him. If it belongs to God and we keep it, that’s robbery. Robbery is a sin, and sin brings a curse. In this case, it’s their finances that were cursed. When I preach on this text, I often begin by asking how many people want God to curse their finances. I’ve never had anyone raise their hand, but by holding onto that tenth, that’s exactly what happens. There is a predictable path here: If we don’t believe God loves us, we will hold onto everything we can...”just in case.” We aren’t convinced he has our best interests in mind, so we hold tight to what has only been entrusted to us momentarily. The resultant curse on our finances convinces us that God really doesn’t love us. It’s a vicious cycle where we get what we believe and expect.

When God tells us he loves us (which he does, in many ways), he proved it not by giving us some oozy-woozy feeling, but by giving us his Son as Savior from our sins (Romans 5:8—“God proved his love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”). When I believe this and trust him in all areas of my life, the curses of sin are cancelled, and life ensues. That is something for which to give thanks tonight!

George

August 16, 2019

I started writing this article the first week of August, but couldn’t bring myself to actually putting it before the world. I wasn’t ready. I’m still not, but today we’ve passed the halfway mark of the month, and next week my good friend George will have moved to North Carolina. George is 82, so there is every possibility that once he heads south I will never see him again. Moving is a reminder of our mortality, and there are parts of it I don’t like. Both George and I have done a bit of moving in our lives, he a bit more than me, but we both have arrived at that stage in our lives where being settled has a special allure. We are friends, and we both have friends whom we value, and letting go of what we value is never easy. 

I’ve learned more than I can say from George in the few years we’ve known each other. He is Lenape Indian (Delaware, to the uninitiated). I’ve never actually had the privilege of watching him dance in full Lenape regalia, but I have seen photos of him and his sons decked out in buckskin, feathers, beads, and paint. He has told and written stories handed down through generations, stories that pierce the veil between this physical life we all share, and the realm of the spirit where life’s meaning is found. We’ve talked about God, politics, education (he was at one time a math professor at Stanford), and life. He joined the Marines as a young man, gathering experiences that I never had. Now he writes, with a humor and twisted irony that matches my own, and I listen and learn. 

What is it that connects souls together, turning strangers into friends? For most of our lives, we didn’t know each other, and on the surface, had little in common, but as we have worshipped together and talked about our writing, a bond has developed that will be difficult for us to sever. Younger people would say, “Things won’t change that much; we’ll stay in touch,” but men who’ve traveled as far down the road as we have, know better. It will be different, in ways neither of us are looking forward to. 

We humans are strange creatures. The Bible says “God has put eternity in our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11).” We’re able to ponder existence beyond ourselves, in both it’s positive and negative dimensions. Death is that strange, unknown realm that has mystified us since the beginning of time. But we are the only ones who experience it existentially as a separation and are able to articulate that experience. One doesn’t have to physically die to experience death; it’s the separation, the loss of something valuable, that bothers us, against which we rebel, that we long to overcome. 

We think we have all the time in the world, until suddenly, we don’t. I’m living tonight in one of those suddenly moments. I don’t like it, but can do nothing about it. So I write about friendship—no, more than friendship. It’s a brotherhood, the deep soul-connection we shall cherish till our sunrises cease, and even beyond, if our faith means anything at all. So long, my friend. I shall miss you, cherish always the grace of God who brought us together for this season of our lives.

Intermittent Hearing

August 15, 2019

My right hearing aid is acting up. Yesterday it started snapping and popping like a bowl of Rice Crispies; today it’s turning on and off, going from quiet to static, then back to quiet again. Being under warranty, it’s not a big deal, just annoying. It would be like trying to watch TV and having someone intermittently hitting the mute button. Tomorrow I go to the audiologist to get it fixed or replaced. 

It does make me think, though. Why do I not get annoyed by hearing from God only intermittently? Why is that more the norm than the exception? Sometimes my spiritual reception is loud and clear; at other times it’s full of spiritual static, but I am not particularly bothered by it. I wonder if God is? I’m thinking so. The Bible speaks often of our slowness to hear. Sins, both great and small, create the static that interferes with communication, and like someone playing with the mute button, keep me from getting the fullness of the message he wants to communicate with me. I need to be less annoyed by my intermittent hearing aid, and more annoyed by my intermittent spirit. Tonight, I’m thankful for this annoyance that has gotten me to thinking, and praying for clear and consistent reception.

Dogs

August 14, 2019

Winston Churchill used to call it his “black dog.” This greatest statesman of the 20th Century almost singlehandedly held England together with his oratory through the bleakest years of World War II, when England stood alone against Nazi domination of Europe. Plenty of others were urging compromise and conciliation with Germany, hoping to placate Hitler. Churchill’s mastery of political speech cemented his refusal to appease or surrender in the minds and hearts of the British Empire, building the national will to resist and fight when it seemed all was lost. Even today, his speeches have the power to stir the soul. 

But what most people didn’t know was this man whose words held people spellbound and injected courage into faint hearts himself carried a burden that has crushed lesser men. This man who inspired others and ultimately saved Western civilization fought a private battle with depression—his “black dog.”

Churchill’s nemesis is the plague of our generation. Never before have so many people been diagnosed with and medicated for depression. For a generation that’s supposed to be the “most connected” generation in history, our alienation and loneliness have reached epidemic proportions, with suicide among the top killers of teens and young adults.

A story is told of an old Indian who spoke of two dogs inside him, battling for control of his life. One was a good dog, the other bad. “Which one wins?” his listener asked.

“The one I feed.”

I cannot claim to have dealt with depression. I’ve never been so down I couldn’t get out of bed or cope with life, but for years I lived under a cloud, a melancholy that though it didn’t drag me to the bottom, it did hold me down from reaching joyful highs. There were no wild mood swings; just the steady drone of grey. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the bad dog was winning because I was feeding it and starving the good dog. The Bible tells us to “bring every thought captive to Christ,” (2 Corinthians 10:5), and to think on things that are “true, noble, just, pure, lovely, of good report, virtuous, and praiseworthy” (Philippians 4:8), and to “set [our minds] on things above, not on things on the earth.” (Colossians 3:2). With all the acrimony, corruption, and moral rot that characterizes our political and social conversations, it’s no wonder people are depressed. When we Christians allow ourselves to get caught up in such talk and thinking, it shouldn’t surprise us that our peace and joy evaporates. 

I am thankful tonight that there is a better way. Jesus taught us to be thankful in every circumstance, to offer praise and thanksgiving at all times. He was not unaware of the evil all around him when he gave such commands. He didn’t live in a better world. But he knew that a ship doesn’t sink because of the water around it. It sinks when the water gets into it. When we allow the mindset of the world around us to get inside us, our ship will sink. The only way to prevent that is to plug the holes with gratitude, which is what I do tonight.

Bible Challenges

August 13, 2019

I’ve read it dozens of times, preached on part of it regularly, but today when I read it once more, I saw some things I hadn’t noticed—words that challenge my opinions and biases in uncomfortable ways. The Bible is like that. It’s often used to bolster the prejudices and perceptions people bring to the text, but it’s purpose is to reveal to us those things we would rather stay hidden, and to challenge us to new ways of thinking and living. This can only happen if we let it speak for itself instead of trying to make it fit our fancies. 

There are plenty of people who try to twist the Scriptures into saying things that agree with what they’ve already decided they want to think, do, and believe, and they go to great lengths to reinterpret what is there and “discover” new truths that somehow have been hidden for generations, but have only come to light in recent times. Amazingly, those “new truths” have a way of lending support to opinions already formed. 

There are things in the Bible I wish weren’t there. It doesn’t pull punches, describes life as it really was and is, in all its ugliness as well as its beauty. It reveals the depths of human depravity, including my own. It makes me think, reconsider. I don’t like having to repent, but I do like mercy and redemption, and the freedom found in living by faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. So I’ll keep reading and giving thanks that the God who questions and challenges me is also the God who brings me new life.

Tired

August 12, 2019

“Work as if everything depended on you; pray as if everything depended on God.” I don’t know where or when I first heard that maxim, but it’s been with me a long time. It’s a spin-off of the old Protestant work ethic, which was drilled into me from childhood. “There’s no play until the work is done” was something I heard regularly when I was growing up. There is value in this perspective. We live in a culture increasingly enamored with entitlement, something my forebears would have found abhorrent. One just didn’t ask others for help; it would be better to go without than to go begging.

There’s a part of me that needed that prodding. At heart, I am quite lazy, and have no trouble frittering time away on useless endeavors or no endeavors at all. My father’s voice ringing in my head is a constant encouragement to get busy and get the job done. I’ve at times however, found it somewhat of a slave driver. As pastor, there was always more work; the job was never done. Even in retirement (“What is that?” I say), there is one more person to see, one more sermon to write. And home ownership keeps us hopping. When I got home from work this afternoon, there was waiting for me some village business followed by raking the chips and twigs from the back yard, finally putting to rest the trees we had cut last week. The lawn needs trimming around the edges, but this time it was me who ran out of gas, not the mower.

I know very little of exhausting, soul-sapping work. For thousands of years, most of mankind labored from sunrise to sunset just to live at a subsistence level. Slaves often literally worked themselves to death, and even today the scourge of human trafficking extracts a horrific price from those so unfortunate as to be entrapped in its evil grip. For these, fitful sleep is periodic relief, and death is a welcome release. 

Tonight I am tired, but I am free. I will safely rest in a comfortable bed, untroubled by worry and fear. I expect to wake tomorrow knowing that already I have been blessed with a longer and better life than most, so I am thankful for all I’ve been given, and will hear that prodding once more, reminding me that there’s work to be done before it’s time to play. I’ll work, but I’ll also pray, knowing that apart from the blessing of my Heavenly Father, the work is as the writer of Ecclesiastes says, “vanity,” but with that blessing, it has meaning and purpose in the greater counsel of God.

Rural Life

August 11, 2019

City dwellers often imagine country life as a dull, dreary existence devoid of culture and things to do or see, but although we might not have the big venues and big name groups, we aren’t cultural Neanderthals, either (with apologies to any actual Neanderthals who might be offended by such characterization). Today began worship led by as good a worship team as can be found most anywhere, and ended with listening to the Dave Golando Big Band on the Cassadaga beach. 

It was a bit challenging to dance in the grass on the hillside, but the music both times was worthy of the best moves a choreographer could invent. The ambiance of the lakeside outclasses any theater (I’ve been in some pretty classy ones, but the beach is pretty hard to beat). 

The best part is not having to fight city traffic to enjoy all this day has offered. It’s not inappropriate in the least to delight in a day like today. The writer of Ecclesiastes put it this way: 

“Go, eat your bread with joy, And drink your wine with a merry heart; For God has already accepted your works. Let your garments always be white, And let your head lack no oil. Live joyfully with the wife whom you love all the days of your vain life which He has given you under the sun, all your days of vanity; for that is your portion in life, and in the labor which you perform under the sun.”           —Ecclesiastes 9:7-9 NKJV

To be blessed by good worship, good music, and a good wife, all in a place of great beauty, is a gift divine, and worthy of great gratitude.

Done!

August 10, 2019

Tonight’s thankfulness will be short and sweet. Or at least short. Apparently I left my iPad on, and the battery was completely drained when it came time to write. I’m thumb typing on my phone, which will compress things considerably. When I got up this morning, I could hardly move, but there was still work to be done, so after breakfast, I trudged out to the backyard where the remnants of the two ash trees were waiting patiently for me, lying on the ground. Those chunks were the only things lying around today.

About three hours later, with Linda’s help, everything was split and stacked. It not only looks good; it feels good to finish the job. The only thing left to do is rake up the bark and chips, and later this fall, to haul it inside load by load, and burn it. Tonight, I’m thankful that it’s done, and I’ll appreciate the warmth all the more for having labored over it this summer. 

Sore

August 9, 2019

Everything hurts. It would be easier to list the parts of me that don’t hurt than the parts that do. I’ve been splitting and stacking wood all afternoon. Writer’s Circle in the morning is always a treat. I’ve made some good friends there who challenge and encourage me to grow as a writer and as a human being. On the way home, I stopped by the village park to cook hot dogs for the kids in our village recreation program. We are blessed with some great people who run the program not just as a summer job, but as a calling to serve the kids.

From then on, it was split and stack, split and stack. A hydraulic wood splitter borrowed from my son, and my tractor with a front end loader made the job manageable. As another chunk popped in two, I thought about our forebears who cut, split and stacked by hand. They needed much more of it than I do, and had to do the work without the benefit of the machinery I am blessed to have. And they had to do it alongside plowing, sowing, and harvesting fields, and caring for their animals. Our Amish friends still live by those old ways; although the slower pace their lives is appealing, the amount of sheer physical effort required simply to live (or is it “to live simply?”) is astounding. Tonight I am grateful for the tools that while not eliminating hard work, make it manageable.

Stability

August 8, 2019

Writing a short article on gratitude every night can be somewhat of a challenge. It’s not that there is any shortage of things for which to be thankful; it’s that there are so many that it’s sometimes hard to choose, especially if part of the goal is to be an encouragement to others. This morning I was in a meeting with a city attorney who had once been a teacher, a school administrator, and a former director of a youth club. We were discussing how to better work together for our community so we might be able to head off some of the violent tragedies that seem so commonplace these days. This particular meeting grew out of a stabbing earlier this year that resulted in the death of a young teenage girl. 

The others in the discussion group talked about various incidents in which they had become involved, either as legal counsel or as intervention. Broken homes, fatherless boys, cultural differences, poverty, violent subcultures—for some children, the wonder is that they made it through at all. I am not unaware of all this, but it’s a different world from the one I inhabit. Once when our sons were young, they tried to call our bluff regarding our discipline. “We’ll call the hotline!” They threatened.

“Go ahead,” we replied. “Matter of fact, we’ll give you the number. Go into foster care. See how that works out for you.” One of the first times Matt stayed overnight at a friend’s house, he came home utterly amazed. He hadn’t realized that not every family sits down for meals together, or that not every mom and dad stay together. “You don’t realize how much of a leg up you have on so many of your friends,” we told them, “simply because of the stability you have at home. You never have to worry about whether or not we will be together when you come home at night.” 

Once, after learning of another marriage that had fallen apart, I sat our three kids down and told them, “If I ever leave your mother, you have every right to believe that everything I ever taught you about God is a lie.”

Linda was aghast. “You can’t tell them that!” 

“They need to know how serious this is, and I need to remind myself how serious this is,” was all I said.

I’m thinking about all this after our meeting this morning. I was given so much by way of my family—stuff I took for granted until I realized how uncommon my life was. Two sets of grandparents within a 45 minute drive, parents whose commitment to each other and to us gave us a stability that essentially showed us God’s faithfulness. I am grateful for this family history, and for a wife whose integrity and faithfulness made it possible to pass the torch to my children and grandchildren. My life is not the most exciting; adventure wasn’t a part of the Bailey DNA. But faithfulness and loyalty were, for which I am thankful tonight.