Joel

January 31, 2020

Silently he creeps, moving imperceptibly from shadow to shadow till he gets into position. Sniper of the spirit, he moves unseen and unsuspected, patiently waiting to ambush the soul.  His name is grief. He lies motionless, seemingly for eternity, gazing with steely eyes looking for the right moment, before slowly squeezing the trigger that sends his deadly projectile with pinpoint accuracy exploding into the heart of his unsuspecting victim.

How many times I’ve officiated at funerals, telling the mourners how grief can catch them by surprise, I couldn’t say. A song on the radio, the aroma of a flower or something on the stove, and the hard-won calm is instantly shattered by waves of anguish that suddenly burst upon the unwary like a tsunami. Having witnessed it time and again, I know this, but experiencing it is altogether different than describing it. Writing to the wife of my dear friend Joel about my latest trip to Cuba was in my mind simply the courteous thing to do, honoring his memory and letting her know his work continues. Re-reading a couple of year-old emails from him took me by surprise, familiar phrases jarring my senses with renewed ferocity. 

If there is any real explanation for how friendships develop, I’m not aware of it; but reading Joel’s reflections from last January on Christmas and the holiday season, I am struck by how much a kindred soul he was to me. He thought deeply and counter-culturally, at times mirroring and intensifying my own observations, and at other times challenging my presuppositions with his unique perspective. 

This grief rolled over me this morning, and has dogged my steps all day. My heart is heavy, but I wouldn’t trade its heaviness for anything, for it is evidence of a friendship that enriched and challenged me to be more than I thought I could be. I cannot fill his shoes; his talents and skills were different than mine, but I can grasp the baton he held out as he finished his leg of the relay, and run with all my might toward the goal. I am grateful to have known him, to have had the privilege of calling him my friend, of hearing his heart and witnessing his enthusiasm for missions. My life is richer and deeper for it, my sorrow today a small price to pay for such a treasure.

Morning Routine

January 30, 2020

“O God, you are my God; early will I seek you: my soul thirst for you, my flesh longs for you in a dry and thirsty land where no water is.” —Psalm 63:1

It’s been a long time since we all managed to get together—my brother and sister in law, my sister, mom, and Linda. It was a wonderful evening, talking and laughing for about three hours. Among other things, we talked about habits, one of which was our morning routines. My brother is an early riser, born of his years on the farm when the cows had to be milked by 6:00 am. It’s not unusual for him to be stirring at 4:30, 5:00 for sure. Judy however, will wake a bit later and lay in bed reading her Bible and praying. “He turns on Fox News; if I watch the news that early in the morning, it ruins my whole day!” she exclaimed. When I questioned how her day would go if she started out with CNN, she just rolled her eyes. 

Judy had touched upon a secret I’ve learned but don’t always practice. What we do first thing in the morning has the potential to shape the entire day. In a few weeks, I’ll be preaching on Deuteronomy 30:15-20, where Moses entreats the Israelites to “choose life.” We must choose life because our default is death. When I wake up in the morning, if I don’t choose to focus on God’s grace and mercy, I’ll almost certainly default to worry and fear, or to grousing about the latest dumb or diabolical political decision made in Albany or Washington, none of which I can do much about. I have to deliberately avoid the newspaper, Facebook, and email feeds, many of which I’ve eliminated from my daily inbox for my own sanity and spiritual well-being.

It’s amazing to me how easy it is to scroll through that stuff; the word “addiction” comes to mind. And it’s not as if I don’t know what people are going to say. Before I even start, I pretty much know where any given article is going to end, no matter which side of the issue I’m reading. I actually prefer articles from those on the other side of the aisle, because I need to know how others are thinking, but I’ve cut way back on all of them.

In the above psalm, David reveals the problem and the solution. The problem is our thirsty souls. We cannot slake that thirst in the dry and desolate land of media of any sort, social or otherwise. This world offers no satisfaction to a starving soul. We must as the Bible says, turn to wells of living, or flowing water that will never run dry. Jesus himself said it: “If anyone thirsts, let him come unto Me and drink.” (John 7:37) Early in the morning is a good time to do just that if I want to start the day off right. I do, so I will.

Called

January 29, 2020

“Our problem is we’re not used to the word ‘sacrifice.’” Not exactly the words I wanted to hear. It was Jeff’s response to what I had shared with my prayer team what I believe God is calling me to do at this stage in life. I suppose it’s time to share it with you.

I was speaking to Cuban pastors about leadership from 1 Samuel 14 the story of Jonathan, son of king Saul. While his father dithered in camp, Jonathan decided he couldn’t stand the thought of the Philistines dishonoring the God of Israel. He and his armor bearer are at the bottom of a steep hill—a cliff, actually—while the enemy peers down at them from above. He gets the not-so-bright idea to show himself to the enemy and see what they do in response; not exactly what you would call brilliant tactics. “If they say, ‘Come up to us,’ we’ll go up. It means the Lord has delivered them into our hands.” The Philistines called, they climbed up on their hands and knees, and quickly dispatched about twenty of the garrison.

I told the pastors that God’s will is often discerned when our enemy or problem calls to us. As I spoke, I saw in my mind the face of the homeless woman we worked with last month. In the course of working with her, I learned that there are no homeless shelters for women in all of Chautauqua County. I had brushed it off as a bit of sad information until it came roaring back at me as I spoke to these pastors. How could I speak with integrity about how God leads us while ignoring the challenge right in front of me? 

Not being too happy with this, I told God, “You must be kidding! I know nothing about running a women’s shelter, don’t know anyone who does, have no money, no place, no staff. I like being home at night. And besides, men don’t run women’s shelters. Did you forget how you made me, God? If you don’t mind, I’ll politely decline.” People say God always answers prayer. I’m here to say there are times he just ignores my pleading. He’s been doing this with me, totally uninterested in my opinion on the matter. It scares me half to death, but there is also a part of me getting excited about the possibilities. Then Jeff’s remark comes barreling at me like a runaway bus. Nothing worthwhile comes until we’re ready to sacrifice. As much as I don’t want to, I know it’s coming. Linda and I had a conversation about this today. By conversation, I mean, she talked and I listened. If things begin to jell, something’s going to have to give. I think I know what one of those things is, but time will tell. At any rate, as unsettling as it is, I am grateful that God doesn’t appear to be finished with me yet. If he can call Moses at 80, I guess he can call me at 70.

Cuba Time

January 28, 2020

Reading once again about leadership, I’m reminded of many good principles involved in leading people. Setting goals, focusing on one’s strengths, listening to people, having a clear vision...all these and more are components of good leadership. Reviewing this material immediately after returning from nearly two weeks in Cuba however, has enabled me to look at it with a slightly different perspective.

Most of the literature on leadership comes from the world of Western-style business, which emphasizes the drive and determination we’ve come to expect of Wall Street. Focus on the goal and the means of getting there, and eliminating everything that doesn’t contribute to it are almost the Holy Grail of leadership. What I haven’t seen so much is the discipline of reflection and meditation that is a necessary foundation to everything else. As one writer puts it, “It is sad when you climb the ladder of success only to find it’s leaning against the wrong wall.”

Cuba time runs at a different, slower pace. We value efficiency; they value intimacy. One pastor commented to me that we Americans seem to keep people at arm’s length; we don’t like to get close. The economy being controlled by the state, working long hours to get ahead doesn’t work. The national joke seems to be, “We pretend to work, and they pretend to pay us.” Any time of the day, the streets are crowded with people walking, waiting, bartering, but not working the way we think of it. The work days started no earlier than 9:00 or 9:30 with an hour break for lunch, and ended at 4:00. If there was to be an evening meeting, the morning’s work was usually suspended. Evening meetings began at 8:00 and went till 9:30 or 10:00. If the day is divided into three segments—morning, afternoon, and evening—only two are ever filled in any given day. I had lots of time to reflect, read, and pray in Cuba

Back home, we hit the floor in the morning, and don’t stop till late at night. Long stretches of time dedicated to feeding the soul are harder to come by; I already am feeling the pinch of spiritual starvation beginning to set in. But my Cuba experiences have whetted my appetite for more. I don’t want to simply mark time, check items off my to-do list, and drop wearily into bed at the end of the day. Slowing down is not easy for us Americans, but it is essential. Living in a sound-bite, Twitter world as we do, it is even more important for us to take time to process all the information bombardment we encounter. Failure to do so renders us incapable of discerning the difference between true and false. The world is filled with people who are more than willing to manipulate those who have lost the ability to reflect and think. 

I am thankful for my Cuba experiences. They remind me to slow down, to ponder and pray, that I may discern what is real and what is not, what is true and what is false, what is valuable and what is worthless, what is genuine and what is counterfeit. Slowing down is not easy. It requires us to say no to attractive possibilities, but it yields the reward of enabling us to say yes to the best.

THREE GIFTS IN THE KITCHEN

January 27, 2020

THREE GIFTS IN THE KITCHEN

Early almost every morning, she sits at the table reading her Bible and praying. She keeps a journal recording her prayers and notes about her studies. This has been going on for years, no matter where we’ve lived. I rarely intrude, and only look at her journal when invited, but one thing I’ve noticed is, I’m always at the top of her prayer list, for which I am very grateful. Lord knows, I need the prayers, and being at the top of her priority list means a lot to me. I enjoy the meals she makes and the conversations we have at that very same table, but most of all, I am thankful for my wife’s prayers that have sustained and supported me for almost fifty years. I shudder to think where I might be without them.

BEFORE DAWN, AT NOON, AFTER DARK

January 26, 2020

A GIFT BEFORE DAWN, AT NOON, AFTER DARK

He sits by the fire in the evening, his face aglow from the screen that flickers so rapidly before him that his eyes can’t capture the flashing even as they grow weary from it. The lights are softly glowing around him as his dog slumbers peacefully in front of the stove. Just three nights ago, he shivered in the cold of an unheated house in Cuba, a guest warmly received and royally treated to the extent their resources allowed. 

Cuban homes are mostly simple block structures, universally without any source of heat. Most of the time, it’s unnecessary, but in the winter when the temperature drops into the fifties and sixties at night, and sometimes during the day, that lack of heat is felt. It’s not life threatening, and they tremble at the thought of winter temperatures we shrug off as seasonal, but any time of night or day, the thermostat keeps our home comfortable. We don sweaters, but have the option of turning up the heat at will, making the climate adjust to our liking rather than having to adjust ourselves to it. From morning through noon and into the evening, the house has stayed at a comfortable 71 degrees, a luxury my Cuban friends cannot conceive, and for which I am grateful tonight.

Borrowed, Found, Inherited

January 25, 2020

A GRACE BORROWED, FOUND, INHERITED

1. Not being the creative type myself, anything worthwhile I have to say is borrowed, most frequently from Scripture. God promised to bless his word, not mine, so when preaching, I’ve always tried to stick pretty close to the text and wring everything out of it I possibly could. Borrowed grace served me well for nearly fifty years, and I expect will continue to do just fine well into the future.

2. Some of God’s graces don’t feel very grace-filled when he first drops them in our laps. Last week while I was speaking on leadership to a group of Cuban Christians, I heard God preaching my sermon to me, and didn’t like it one bit. I told him so. “I don’t want to do this; I want to actually try retirement. I don’t know anything about this, don’t know anyone who does, don’t have the money, don’t have the place to do it, and most of all, don’t have any interest in it.” God has a strange way of not paying attention to our very reasonable and good excuses, so I’m finding myself like Jonah, trudging reluctantly to my Nineveh. 

3. Barring some freak accident, I’m likely going to be around for quite a few more years. Which is a good thing, because I’m going to need them to accomplish the things I think God is setting before me. My paternal grandmother lived to be 100, my grandfather 88. My maternal grandmother lived to be 88; my grandfather died young, but was a smoker who had a heart attack in his fifties, before there was much of any treatment for heart disease. My father lived to be 92, and mom is still (almost) going strong at 97, so the genetics are favorable. I not only inherited the longevity gene, but have a spiritual heritage that has been my life’s foundation. 

These three graces have shaped and guided me for seventy years. If God gives me as many more as my paternal grandmother, I expect they will do so for many more, in which case, I hope they will bless others, too.

Above, Below, Beside

January 12, 2020

SOMETHING ABOVE, BELOW, BESIDE

Tonight’s post will be short. I just finished reading an article about Stalin’s systematic starvation of up to 10 million Ukrainians in the ‘30’s, stealing their grain and exporting it. The horrors of what millions of people suffered in the 20th century from Nazism, Communism, Socialism, and radical Islam is unimaginable. I cannot fathom the callous cruelty we humans often have towards one another. I am fortunate to have been born in a country that has been almost completely untouched by governments that turn on their own people, and hope this remains true for my children and grandchildren, although the prosperity and freedom we know are never guaranteed. That being said, tonight I am grateful for a roof above me, a bed beneath me, and my wife beside me. Were I to have nothing more than this, I would be a blessed man.

Yellow Mercy

January 11, 2020

THREE YELLOW GIFTS OF FRESH MERCY

1. When they first came out, LED lights glared at you with white intensity. Linda didn’t like them. “They’re cold,” she claimed, and I had to agree. We liked the old incandescents, and changed them back as soon as we could. We have visions of Thomas Kincaid paintings, with their little dots of yellow peeking through windows or glowing from streetlamps, duskily illuminating the shadows. Yellow light is soft and inviting, welcoming us into intimate and safe spaces. It’s imagination, I know, but emotion has it’s own reasoning, and we still like yellow light.

2. The seeds are black, and the bluejays, chickadees, cardinals, and squirrels love them, scattering their hulls over the terrace out back. The bounty of those black seeds blesses us with beauty as we watch the blue jays quarrel and the cardinals skulk warily to the feeders. Black oil sunflower seeds wreathed in golden yellow are gift to the eyes before harvest and gift to the birds afterwards, before becoming our gift.

3. I can’t think of another yellow gift. It’s not Linda’s favorite color, nor mine, and rather than waste time fretting about what I can’t conjure up even after an entire day’s thought, I’ll be grateful for two gifts of yellow mercy.

A Beautiful Day

January 10, 2020

A GIFT SOUR, SWEET, JUST RIGHT

I’m following a calendar that has daily suggestions or prompts for gratitude, some of which try as I might, are challenging. For example, I love grapefruit. Plain, no sugar. Linda thinks it’s disgusting, but I prefer peeling a grapefruit to an orange. Color me strange. Add in that except for an occasional dark chocolate, chocolate covered espresso beans, or licorice, I’m not much for sweets, and you can see why today’s suggestion is a bit of a stretch. The “just right” part however, is right up my alley.

This afternoon, I visited my friend Rick. Rick had a stroke some years ago that took out his right side and his speech. Other than that, he’s in good health and is pretty cheerful, considering. He has round the clock care, and I get to meet different caregivers every time I see him. Today I met Susan, a pretty fifty-eight year old who recently moved back into the area after forty years absence. “Family issues,” she explained. In the course of our conversation, I told her about the gratitude calendar, and when I told her how the gratitude discipline had changed my life, she expressed interest. So I texted her a copy of it. If she follows it, I have no doubt it will help her as it helped me. That prospect makes me happy.

Tonight is a “Meema and Beepa night.” All nine of our grandchildren and one of Izzi’s friends are here for the duration. Before bed, we gather for prayer. Linda leads first, ending with a scriptural prayer which she repeats leaving some words out, which the kids fill in. I usually follow with a short prayer and scriptural blessing, but Linda threw me a curve tonight by asking me to sit on the floor while the kids circled around. They laid hands on me, each one praying for me and the mission trip I’ll be taking. It’s hard to explain the impact of having your grandchildren praying for you. It was a moment I’ll treasure always. It was even more than “just right.”

Held, Passed By, Sat With

January 9, 2020

A GIFT HELD, PASSED BY, SAT WITH

I’m taking these in reverse order. This morning I sat with three other men around a table, praying. That’s all we do. Starting with a psalm to help us focus, we simply pray for an hour, ending with the Lord’s Prayer and the singing of a hymn. We’re on our second round of psalms, which with the few Thursdays we haven’t met, means we’ve been at this for more than three years. There’s no lesson, very little banter; just prayer. Sitting with these guys has become a highlight of my week, a priority I seldom miss, and for which I am deeply grateful.

Leaving our prayer group, as I walked out the front door, a young father was dropping off his son for the Wrap, our church’s before-school program that provides a safe place for elementary children when their parents have to be at work early. The man’s son looked to be four or five, and as his father helped him down from the cab of his truck, he talked calmly and steadily to the boy. His last words as his son turned to go into the church were, “Remember! Be the engine, not the caboose.” I caught those words as I passed by, and have held onto them all day long. It’s great advice, not only for a boy, but for me, too. It is all too easy to let other people or the circumstances of life be the engine that drives our existence, while we trail along like obedient cabooses, going wherever that engine leads. And if not others, we allow our emotions, perceived insults or slights, or even some online post from someone we’ve never met, determine our happiness and sense of well-being.

I’m hanging onto those words. They are life-affirming, and we can never get enough of that.

Dusky Light, Surprising Reflection, Lovely Shadow

January 8, 2020

DUSKY LIGHT, SURPRISING REFLECTION, LOVELY SHADOW

The suggestions I’m following for this year’s gratitude journal come from Ann Voskamp, and coming from a woman’s perspective, often feel a bit odd to me, but thinking outside our own private boxes is not such a bad idea, so I soldier on.

1.  The Christmas tree and its ornaments are all packed away for another year (that’s right—we have an artificial), the decorations have been taken down, and for all intents and purposes, the house is back to normal. Almost. Linda LOVES her carolers, and hasn’t quite yet been able to bring herself to stuff them back into their tote homes for the year. Wherever I look, these diminutive men and women peer down at me from every conceivable flat surface in the house except the kitchen counters and dining room table. There are Salvation Army carolers, Victorian carolers, a butcher, postman, lamplighter, and an assortment of musicians silently plying away on everything from sackbut to string bass. Most of them stand amid tiny lights that give off a soft glow in the darkness. Dusky light, it must be, for I wouldn’t be able to read by them, although I can appreciate the songs they represent.

2. St. James says, “If anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror; for he observes himself, goes away, and immediately forgets what kind of man he was. But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work, this one will be blessed in what he does.”

James 1:23-25 NKJV

The Holy Scriptures not only reveal God to me, they reveal myself to me. The prophet Jeremiah said, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. Who can know it?” (17:9) I imagine myself to be honest, compassionate, industrious, until I get my nose into the Bible. I don’t suppose I’m the worst person in the world, but stacked up against the standard of Jesus Christ, I fall woefully short. The only way I know that is when I see him revealed, and then see myself reflected, in the Word. When I get up in the morning and see myself peering back at me in the bathroom mirror, there is much work to be done to make myself presentable for the day. And when I see myself reflected in the Scriptures, I know there is much work to be done to make me presentable to my Lord. I don’t always like what I see, but am thankful for an accurate reflection, without which I could never grow.

3. What would make a shadow lovely? When I think of shadows, images of dark, sinister beings or people come to mind—hiding in the dark to accomplish nefarious acts, flitting on silent feet from cover to cover to avoid exposure, shrinking from the light. Terrible things happen in the shadows, and dark thoughts and deeds are hatched there. 

But in the summertime when the sun beats down, raising droplets of sweat on my brow, the shadows are a pleasant place to be. Linda loves the sun. She can lay, basking in its glory, baking in its rays. Not me. The least exposure, and the sweat is dripping into my eyes, making it hard to see. I’m constantly wiping my brow, longing for the sweet, soft, shade. The Bible says, “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” (Ps. 91:1). In a desert land, a shadow is a welcome place, and when my soul feels parched and dry, the shadow of the Almighty is a good place to be.

Grace

January 7, 2020

THREE GRACES FROM PEOPLE I LOVE

Mercy is not receiving the bad you deserve. Grace is receiving the good you didn’t deserve. 

1.  Whenever I am preparing sermons or planning my outlines for mission work, I get nervous. Actually, I get more than nervous. I tend to withdraw as I focus on the work before me, always wondering if what I am preparing is the right stuff, if it is what the people need, if it is indeed an apt word from the Lord. When I was preaching weekly, Sunday mornings were the worst. I couldn’t eat breakfast; my stomach would be in knots until the first service was over. Once I had preached it, I was able to settle down for round two. 

All this to say, when I’m in the preparation mode, I’m not very pleasant to be around. This morning was one of those times. Linda noticed (she would have had to be comatose not to), and called me on it. Fortunately for me, she recovers quickly, and what could have been a bad day wasn’t. From her I received grace today.

2.  Last night at our men’s Bible study, one of the members had a lot of questions. To be sure, it was a knotty text, and some wanted to rush through it. He asked me as pastor what I thought of it, and I did my best to answer. As we were wrapping up, he stopped by my place at the table, put his hand on my shoulder, thanked me for taking the time to answer his question, and said how much my ministry over the years has meant to him. It was an unexpected word of grace that was an encouragement to me as I am preparing to minister in Cuba.

3.  She can’t do much anymore. It takes all her energy to get from her recliner to the bathroom, and when we visit, she just sits. Last year, she would get up, fix lunch, set the table. Not now. This morning as we sat and talked, I could see her beginning to wear out. After about an hour of conversation, mom closed her eyes and was almost immediately asleep. She woke up, we talked some more, and once more, she dozed off. She did manage however, to make sure she gave Linda some money as a donation to the pregnancy care center our daughter runs. 

It is largely due to her influence that I am who I am today. As a child, we didn’t go to church, but about the time I turned twelve, she decided we needed to do so. So we did, and it was in that church that I first heard the Gospel. I came to Christ, and the trajectory of my life changed. In a mission conference when I was fourteen, I responded to an invitation to dedicate myself to full time Christian work. My parents were asked to stand in affirmation of my decision. Trembling, mom stood with dad, knowing as I did not, that it might mean my living halfway around the world. It meant letting go more than she was prepared to do, but she did it anyway. Grace has been her gift to me throughout my life, and though she is unable to do much these days, her gift to our daughter is merely one more demonstration of the grace I’ve known for seventy years.

Pocket, Fridge, Heart

January 6, 2020

YOUR POCKET, YOUR FRIDGE, YOUR HEART

1. “What’s in your wallet?” How many times have we gritted our teeth through that commercial? I remember the line, but couldn’t tell you today which credit card company it represents. What I can say is how thankful I am for what is in my wallet; cash that years ago wasn’t there, credit cards that make it easy to pay for almost anything without having to carry around obscene amounts of cash, and insurance and Medicare cards, plus driver’s license and other cards that convey specific privileges in my home state. 

I know people whose only insurance is Medicaid, who instead of a credit card, have a government public assistance card; others who have no driver’s license, still others who carry medical emergency information. My wallet reveals a lot about where I happen to fall in today’s social system. If I fall, my wallet tells me the landing won’t be so hard.

2. Our refrigerator is always full. What more need I say? We are blessed with both variety and abundance to the point where occasionally we dig to the back and find things that have sat so long they need to be thrown away. Considering that people around the world go to bed hungry, if we had no more than a full refrigerator, we would have more than most. 

3. If my heart were as filled with as much good as my refrigerator, I would be a wise and holy man. That being said, because my heart is the home of the Holy Spirit, I possess a wisdom and holiness that is not my own, but which is the foundation of my life. 

Today’s Scripture reading came from Matthew 6, where Jesus comments on our life’s focus. “The light of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye be single (focused, good), your whole body will be full of light.” When I am driving, if I look for more than a passing glance at something at the side of the road, I’ll inevitably drift towards whatever I’m looking at. I need to keep my focus straight ahead if I want to stay on the road. My life too, will drift towards whatever becomes my focus, which is why I deliberately focus on gratitude, grace, and God. If I look too long at the politics and power of this world, I’ll drift towards it like a moth to the flame. Wherever the eyes of my heart turn is where I will end up. Staying on the road takes continual vigilance; staying on life’s road requires it, too. It is no better to end up in a ditch at 70 than it would have been at 20. My eyes reveal what’s in my heart.

Reading, Making, Seeing

January 5, 2020

SOMETHING I’M READING, MAKING, SEEING

1.  Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5-7 challenges me every time I read it. Last week, a man was shot and killed by security in a church in Texas after pulling out a shotgun and fatally shooting two church members. Subsequently, the media has exploded with commentary, either extolling the virtues of stricter gun control laws, or of broader concealed carry so would-be murderers might have second thoughts, not knowing who might be shooting back. My personal inclination is with the gun rights people. Gun free zones have proven to be death traps. Most mass shootings occur in them, and contrary to media predictions, the proliferation of concealed carry permits hasn’t resulted in a bloodbath.

That being said, when I run up against the teachings of Jesus in this sermon, I see words that challenge my natural inclination for self-protection and protecting my family and loved ones. Jesus starts out with “blessed are the meek,” moves on to warning against anger (v.22), agreeing with our adversary lest we be accused, judged, and sentenced (v.25), to turning the other cheek (v.39), to loving our enemies and praying for those who misuse us (v44). It could be argued that such advice is what one would be wise to do when operating from a position of subjugation and weakness. Responding with violence rarely turns out well when one is only able to bring a knife to a gun fight. Nevertheless, even though I do not live in a condition of subjugation, or perhaps because of it, refraining from retaliation, or non-violence (as MLK taught) can be an effective method of responding to violence. Jesus’ words grate against my soul, which is probably a good thing. At the very least, it means I’m still listening, still struggling with the demands of the Gospel, and for that I give thanks. It means the Holy Spirit hasn’t given up on me.

2. I’m cheating a bit on this one. Technically, I haven’t started making it, but I did buy the supplies as a Christmas gift for Linda. Her desk chair is an antique with a caned seat that disintegrated some years ago. The framework under it is all that enables her to sit in it with the aid of a pillow, so I thought it would be nice to fix it for her. I bought the cane, and as soon as I finish a time-sensitive project that has priority, I will tackle this job. Never having done it before, it will be a challenge, but is nothing I can’t handle. I am grateful to be able to do things like this. I know people whose arthritic hands don’t allow them such luxuries.

3.  My vision is presently a bit cloudy, but I expect it to begin clearing up as I work my way through my son’s “Ready, Set, Dream” course at church. A number of people have worked their way through the process of identifying their dreams and abilities as a foundation for engaging in that part of God’s work that ignites their passion for ministry. When I retired, I thought I had a pretty good idea how I would invest my retirement years, but so far, most of those plans haven’t materialized. I thought I would be spending much more time in Cuba working with pastors and friends there, but since the untimely death of my friend Joel, I’ve felt a bit unsettled about the direction our work in Cuba is to take. He saw possibilities that eluded me, and had the training to bring it to fruition. I’m only a pastor. I know how to preach, but I’m not the organizer and visionary Joel was. 

Since retirement, when it comes to a life-purpose, it has often felt as if I were walking through a fog. I’ve kept busy, hopefully with good and worthwhile investment of my energies, but I don’t think I’ve hit my retirement stride. I am expecting my son’s class combined, with an impending mission trip, to help me see more clearly. I am grateful tonight for the hope this gives, and the possibilities that lie before me.

Old, Blue, New

January 4, 2020

A GIFT OLD, NEW, BLUE

1.  I see old every time I look in the mirror. I feel old occasionally, like tonight my back hurts. When I was a kid, my grandparents seemed old to me, but I am older now than they were when I was growing up, and my image of them is not what I see inside me. Most of the time, my age is just numbers on a calendar, and I am thankful for each year, every day I’ve been given. Even a cursory glance through the obits shows me people who weren’t given the gift of old. 

2.  It’s been some twenty years since last I had them, so in one sense it won’t be new, but it will be new again. For Christmas, Linda bought me a beehive. I’ve wanted to get back into it for a long time, and come spring, I’ll either find a swarm or get a nuc (a small, commercially available colony of bees), and be back in business. A lot has changed in those twenty years; diseases previously unknown have infiltrated, making beekeeping much more hands-on than it used to be. A hobbyist like myself used to be able to set supers on the hive in the spring and leave the little critters alone till fall when it was time to take off the honey. With the diseases, pesticides, and such, a hive needs regular attention. Not quite the same as animal husbandry which requires daily work, but a bit more than I used to do. They are fascinating creatures, and provide much entertainment in addition to the honey and wax they provide. Linda listened to my heart, and I am grateful tonight for the prospect of a sweet future.

3.  “Isabel!” Linda exclaimed as the doorbell rang. She’s about the only one who announces her appearance with a push of the button as she sweeps into the dining room with a cheerful “hi!” Usually, she needs something—a stain to be removed from a shirt or basketball uniform, cookies baked for something going on at school; but tonight, she showed up for no particular reason at all. Full of stories and energy, her blue eyes sparkled as she talked. Mostly it was about friends and activities, both of which she has in abundance. Linda asked her about college plans, prompting a narrative about her grades. Half an hour later, she jumps up. “Dad wants the car back at 7:00, so I have to go,” she announced before giving us both hugs and bounding out the door. Recently, I have had a Facebook conversation with a high school classmate who spoke of the blessing of her grandchildren living nearby. Hers are twenty minutes away. Ours can walk to our house in ten. I am so thankful for Izzi’s blue eyes dancing in delight at our table tonight.

Overheard

January 3, 2020

THREE GRACES OVERHEARD

1.  This morning, a friend whose perspective and wisdom I cherish, emailed our writer’s group from his new home in the Carolinas. “I’m going to try to follow pastor Jim’s example of being thankful,” he said. He’s been around enough to know that is not an easy path, as I discovered when I began walking this road myself. Not passing judgment on events and situations I believe to be foolish or even dangerous seemed to be an abdication of responsibility, requiring that I take decisive steps to curtail my critical tongue. It took awhile, but in the process I learned that most of my commentary, especially on social media, was either preaching to the choir or merely raising the hackles of those on the other side. 

Interestingly, response from around the table seemed to think my approach to be somewhat naïve or Pollyanna-ish. Perhaps it is, but I am grateful for this discipline that has governed my thinking and writing for the past seven years. It hasn’t changed the world, but it has changed me, and if my friend is the only one who picks up the torch, it will have changed one other person, too. This conversation overheard inspires me to keep going.

2. Tonight our dinner group met. We ate and talked, and as the meal ended and the conversation tapered off, it was time to pray. We adjourned to the living room where one by one, we spoke of situations we or loved ones were facing. Our host then prayed for each request. He commented afterward that it wasn’t polished like mine would be, whereupon I reminded him that heartfelt trumps polish every time. Besides, he wasn’t talking to me; he was talking to our Heavenly Father. As an earthly father, I’m not concerned about the presentation when my children want to talk. I’m just glad to have them come. No, Ken wasn’t talking to me; he was talking to God, and the rest of us merely had the privilege of listening in and overhearing a conversation that included us. 

3. It’s hard to overhear conversations when you’re nearly deaf. It isn’t polite to lean over into the next booth at a restaurant. I’ve watched movies where the protagonist overhears a conversation that leads to a mystery to be solved. That’s not going to happen here! I did however, happen to overhear a conversation as I read my Bible this morning. John was baptizing people who came to hear his preaching. He had called on people to repent, i.e. to make an about face in the trajectory of their lives. Some of the religious leaders of the day came to hear him and requested baptism also. Most preachers I know would be ecstatic to have prominent people come requesting baptism, but not John. “You generation of snakes!” he thundered. “Who warned you to flee the wrath to come?” John was about as fire and brimstone as they come, and Jesus said of him, “There is none greater.”

Whenever I see one of those shirts or signs that says, “In a world where you can be anything, be kind,” I think of John. Why aren’t we encouraging people to be bold, to be holy, to be courageous, to excel? Kindness is a wonderful attribute, but it isn’t the end-all. As I read this morning, I overheard this conversation between John and the religious leaders, and as a retired pastor I have to ask myself, “Is he talking to me?”

A Full Plate

January 2, 2019

A Gift Outside, Inside, On a Plate

1.  Linda and I are quite definitely on the far side of middle age. Whenever I open the newspaper and see the obits, there are people younger than ourselves by many years, a reminder that we are closer to the end of the road than its beginning. Most of the time, we don’t really notice it too much. Some things we used to do without even thinking now require conscious decision-making, but it’s only when we look at photos from years gone by that we really notice our age. The laugh lines in our faces have deepened, the bags under my eyes are permanent fixtures. That being said, I am always appreciative of how Linda takes care of herself. She exercises, doesn’t overindulge, pays attention to the bathroom scale. Even when just working around the house, she always is presentable, and takes care to make sure when we are out together that she dresses for the occasion. No pajama bottoms, baggy sweatshirts, or ghastly tights for her! She makes sure what I see on the outside is easy on my eyes.

2.  Were it merely the outside, it would be a hollow beauty, but that’s not the case. St. Paul once said that though the outer self be wasting away, the inner self is being renewed day by day (2 Corinthians 4:16). Linda’s inner beauty glows more brightly with each passing day. She is careful about what she allows into her mind, and is constantly alert to the needs of others. I know many good people, but both her compassion and diligence are without equal. There is no one I’d rather spend my time with than her because she makes it so easy to do so. Even in those times of disagreement, she makes it easy by her quickness to forgive. She is definitely a Proverbs 31 woman! 

“Many daughters have done well, But you excel them all. Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.”  Prov. 31:29-30

3.  I am thankful tonight for what is on her plate. One of the reasons Linda weighs less than when we married is the quality of the meals she places on our plates and the amount of empty space she leaves on hers. It takes good nutrition to feed body and soul, and good discipline to not overdo it. Figuratively, in her, I have a plate that is full not just of food, but of life, because she pushes me to engage in ways I would not if left to myself. Our life-plates are full, all due to her, and I am thankful.

Beginning Again

January 1, 2019

It’s been said that our bodies are renewed at the cellular level every seven years, that physically we are literally not the same people we were seven years ago. I’m not sure that’s true, and have trouble imagining how our memories could be transmitted to new brain cells or how I could remain recognizable with an entirely new body. Besides, new things are supposed to work better than the old; I’m not seeing that happening when I get out of bed in the morning.

Seven years ago today, I began my journey of gratitude, vowing to eschew political and negative words for positive and upbuilding ones. Doing so lifted the clouds of melancholy that hung over my head for years. They have returned only so long as I drifted from my resolution, retreating once more when I get my thinking back on track. It has been an amazing journey. As I’ve said many times before, I didn’t realize the depth of my disobedience and faithlessness in neglecting gratitude. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 commands it, and my neglect of this command was just as sinful as if I had robbed or killed someone. In fact, I was robbing myself (and Linda) of joy, and was slowly killing my soul.

The discipline of gratitude with which I began was a calendar by Ann Voskamp that suggested three things each day for which to give thanks. I followed that for a year, then ventured off on my own, wandering occasionally into Scriptural, social, and theological commentary. Lately, it has felt as if I were getting a bit stale, that my observations have been shallow and too personally specific. After all, most everyone who has them is proud of their grandchildren. Who needs me to blather on about mine? So, I’ve decided seven years is a good time to come full circle, revisiting that calendar of gratitude. Here’s today’s offering:

THREE GIFTS HEARD

1.  The fact that I can hear at all is for me, a miracle. This morning, Linda spoke to me before I had put in my hearing aids. I was shocked at how little I could understand without them, the years I missed when my hearing was deteriorating, and the gift and miracle I have been given. For most of human history, hearing loss was simply something to be endured. The two tiny miracles that sit behind my ears are life-giving, allowing me to participate in conversations and be a part of all that happens all around me. 

2.  St. Paul tells us that “faith comes by hearing” (Romans 10:17). In his opening words of the Revelation, St. John offered a special blessing to those who “hear the words of this prophecy” (Revelation 1:3). Christians often speak of desiring to “see” Jesus. We imagine that if we could behold him in his glory, or had we been there to observe his passion, that we would be more devoted and faithful. But it was none other than Jesus himself who told Thomas, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are they who have not seen, and yet believed” (John 20:29). Perhaps seeing is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Maybe if we listened better, we would be better. So I am thankful for the command to listen, and the promised blessing for those who hear.

3.  I heard Linda speaking to me this morning. I listened to our son Nathan as we drove to a friend’s house this afternoon, talking all the way about the little things that bind relationships together, and the terrible impact of poverty on people’s lives. I heard this friend’s tearful thank you’s as we delivered the hot water tank he so desperately needed. “You are the only real friends I have,” he sobbed. Having known him for years, I don’t think he was play acting. My heart listened to our granddaughter Abi as she gave me a hug and an “Love you,” when she and her boyfriend popped in for a quick visit. I heard my daughter’s voice inviting us for dinner, and the laughter of her children as we talked and played games at the table. Those blessed with good hearing have no idea how precious is this gift. I’ve not even touched on the beauty of a symphony, the joy of playing bass or bassoon, or actually hearing a bird singing. I am grateful tonight for this amazing gift.