Hold Your Tongue

March 31, 2020

“No one gains ground when everyone’s slinging mud.” I don’t know where I first heard that (or variation of it), but it’s important to remember. With nonstop news channels breathlessly airing the latest on COVID-19 every hour of the day, it’s inevitable that either the media itself, someone in state or national government, or some self-proclaimed Hollywood type will tell us whose fault all this is. It doesn’t matter whether one is on the right, left, or somewhere in between, it seems people are looking for some political person to blame.

It’s the rare person who doesn’t get caught up in one way or another. Even if we don’t join in the mud-slinging, we take private glee at the jabs against those on the other side, and hold righteous indignation at those that land in our camp. 

Having finished reading through the Gospels yesterday, I was somewhat at a loss as to where to begin reading in my daily devotions. I settled on James. I like the name. That ancient James had a few things to say to this modern (yes, that’s me!) James.

“With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.” —James 3:9-10 NIV

“Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” —James 1:26-27 NIV

It’s always easier to criticize than to create. In some perverse and twisted reasoning, we assume that criticizing is actually helpful. It isn’t. Years ago, John Maxwell talked of how he handled criticism. If someone had a complaint, he would listen only if they would also present an alternative plan. Without it, he deemed the complaint unworthy of his time and attention. I think he was on to something there. I realize that not everyone who is in a position to make decisions will always make the best ones. Some people in places of power are truly evil. Some are clueless, and some are simply too arrogant to receive counsel. 

One thing I’m learning through all this COVID-19 business is that I know next to nothing about this disease. My first instinct was mistrust. Our media has for so long cried wolf over every little blip on the radar that I tend to take their warnings with a grain of salt. But...believe it or not, I don’t know everything, and instead of criticizing even to myself the actions of those in power, I’m practicing the elder James’ advice: Hold my tongue and take care of those who are vulnerable. (Sigh) Once more, the Scriptures strike at the heart—my heart—and call me to humble repentance and a change of heart in the Name of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit. Lord knows, I need it; so I’m thankful for it.

What About Him?

March 30, 2020

‘Who is the greatest?” It seems a bit crass for the disciples to have been arguing over such juvenile matters as late as the last hours of Jesus’ life on earth, but all four gospels tell the same story in various ways. Crass it may have been, but comparing ourselves to others is one of the hardest spiritual weeds to pull from the garden of our souls. We may not say it in so many words, but we all do it.

In the very last chapter of John’s gospel, the issue crops up once more. Jesus is having a heart-to-heart with Peter, restoring and reassuring him following the latter’s craven denial of even having known Jesus in the hours before the latter’s crucifixion. Jesus hints at Peter’s own martyrdom in later years, telling him, 

“When you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!””

—John 21:18-19 NIV

Even at this late hour, Peter can’t resist playing the comparison game. He notices “the disciple Jesus loved,” John standing nearby, and asked, “Lord, what about him?” It had apparently become somewhat obvious that Jesus had his favorites. Peter, James, and John were in the inner circle, but John somehow occupied a special place in Jesus’ heart. Perhaps it was because he was the youngest of the disciples (according to tradition), but whatever the reason, John was aware of this special honor, and so was Peter. Jesus’ answer to Peter’s question is the same answer he gives us: “What I choose to do with him is no concern of yours. You follow me.” 

We don’t like to admit it, but many of us wrestle with this same issue. We look at others’ success and wonder why things turned out for them and not for ourselves. I’ve been a professing Christian for most of my life; I’ve been a pastor for most of my life, and this question still occasionally haunts me. I wonder what more I might have accomplished had I been more faithful, what might have turned out better had I made different choices at various times. I recently read a newsletter from a pastor who has spearheaded a significant ministry in Cuba, doing quite successfully where we’ve struggled to find our way. I found myself asking, “What about him?” Or more truthfully, “Why not me?”

I’m not proud of my reaction. Frankly, it’s somewhat embarrassing to admit it, but in the game of life, more of of us are bench warmers than star players, and instead of being grateful to merely being on the team, we often envy the hall of famers. 

Comparisons are not only unproductive; they are deadly sinful, for they shift our focus from loving and serving God to whining about our status. However subtle the question, “What about him?” strangles our gratitude and stifles our service. These last words of John’s gospel are convicting. They reveal a side of me I don’t like and would rather not see. They show me how far I yet need to go. 

John Wesley’s Covenant prayer has a phrase in it that I am (often reluctantly) praying this Lent—“Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee, Exalted for thee or brought low for thee.” It’s that part about “laid aside” that smarts. Placing ourselves completely at Christ’s disposal is a discomforting thing. I like to be in control, to have my hands on the steering wheel. And to tell the truth, I want to be the one taking the checkered flag at the end of my race. Sitting out the last laps in pit row is not my idea of fun. Nevertheless, I am having a go at this prayer, and reluctantly thankful for today’s Scripture that convicts and challenges me. I wish the light it has shined into my heart would also illuminate the path ahead of me, but that’s for another day, another Scripture, another prayer.

Hard Eucharistos

March 29, 2020

Occasionally when officiating at funerals, especially of a child or young person, I’ve asked the parents if they would give up the years they had with their child in exchange for not having the deep grief they were experiencing at the time of their loss. I never had a parent say they were willing to make that trade. The joy of having their child was always worth the pain and heartbreak they were going through. 

I’ve thought about that question recently, and it haunts me. One of the major tasks of grief is learning to live with the memory of the loved one’s presence instead of the reality of it. We wouldn’t want to have lived without the loved one, but we also mourn what we no longer have. Kahlil Gibran spoke eloquently of grief when he said, 

     When you are sorrowful look...in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

     Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”

     But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

     Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

    Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. 

    Only when you are empty are you at a standstill and balanced.

    When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.”

                                                                                 —“The Prophet”

This morning we attended a virtual worship service from Park church. At noon, Linda and I had Sunday dinner with our children and grandchildren present via Zoom. It was good to see and talk with them. I am thankful for the hard work so many are doing to help us keep connected in these times of social-distancing. I am thankful for the technology that gives us some semblance of connection. But I have to say, it’s not the same. We miss the hugs from our grandchildren (Eliza excepted), the laughter around our table, the grandkids popping in for even a few minutes to say hello. We are having to learn the new reality that requires us to be thankful for the memories and for the knowledge that we will be together again. As a dedicated introvert, I never thought I’d see the day when I longed so deeply for the presence and touch of other people. I am more aware than ever how much we need this even physical connection with one another, and how much is lost when we don’t have it. 

Ann Voskamp in her book “1000 Gifts,” speaks of what she calls ‘hard eucharistos,’ those difficult things for which we must learn to give thanks. This social distancing is a hard eucharistos for me, much more than I ever imagined it would be. But I am learning through it how critical it is to be aware of those who are isolated by age, infirmity, of distance, and to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem.

Grey Wonder

March 28, 2020

Clouds hovered close to the earth here in Western New York today. There’s nothing unusual about that. I’ve heard there are actually places in the world where if it isn’t raining, it’s sunny. Western New York is not one of them. Overcast is normal here. Which is why yesterday was so invigorating. Linda and I got some yard work done, pulling some bayberry bushes that she says reach out and grab her with their prickers when she mows the lawn. She was very appreciative. Normally, I believe in “live and let live” when it comes to the shrubbery around the yard, but I have to admit it looks better the way it is now. 

But that was yesterday; today is dreary. It takes effort to keep the dreariness from penetrating our souls. My seminary theology professor, Paul Hessert, did his doctoral work at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. He claimed with some rationale, that John Knox’s dour Presbyterian theology was a product of the dreary Scottish climate. 

In spite of the weather and the enforced isolation of social distancing, the sun still shines and people are finding creative ways to stay connected. Social media, which has promised so much and delivered so little when it comes to connecting us, is finally earning its keep. I wish I could say as much about our dog Emma. At least the cat occasionally catches a mouse. Emma barks at whatever she thinks is across the creek, but has yet to catch anything she chases. 

This morning, I was reading in John’s Gospel the story of Jesus’ crucifixion. I was struck by the calm, matter-of-fact way the entire scene is presented. Perhaps it’s because the original readers knew all too well what crucifixion was like, but there is no melodrama, no pulling at the heartstrings, no gory details. “The Greatest Story Ever Told,” as the 1965 movie by that name puts it, is told with the dispassionate manner of a reporter. As I read, I wondered what it was like for Jesus to be flogged, have a thorny crown pressed onto his brow, a purple robe thrown over his shoulders in mockery, and paraded before the crowd as Pilate proclaimed, “Behold, the man!” 

Before the scene ends, that same Pilate is bearing unwitting witness to an even greater reality: this man is King of the very people who were clamoring for his death. Jesus knew what awaited him, yet doesn’t grovel, doesn’t beg, doesn’t rail against his accusers or executioners. I wonder if he looked down through the ages, saw me and said, “this is for you, Jim.” Knowing me as I do, I am in amazement that he would endure all that for someone as fickle and sinful as I. I am humbled that though unworthy, he would say of me, “worth it.” Even grey skies cannot shroud the wonder and glory of such love.

Not What We Were

March 26, 2020

When I pulled it down from the rafters, it was pretty pathetic-looking, with splotches of paint on the stiles, and covered with a stubborn layer of dirt. One of the spindles in the back was broken and missing; it’s a wonder it hadn’t been tossed on the burn pile years ago. A trip to the bathtub and shower and a bit of vigorous elbow grease with a Scotchbrite pad left a dirty mess in the tub for me to scrub down, but the chair was clean. The paint splotches hadn’t disappeared, though.

It took a thorough scrubbing with some paint stripper to remove the paint, and a rub-down with some red oak stain to even out the finish. Today, I applied the second coat of varnish, fabricated, stained, and varnished the missing spindle, and drilled out the holes where it needs to go. I counted out the holes for the caning, set my starter pegs, and am ready to begin the fun part. 

It’s far from finished; that’ll take another week or so, depending on how much time I give it each day. But it’s a far sight better than it was. When I get involved in a project like this, I usually forget to take a ‘before’ photo; it happened again when I started this one. It’s just as well, because this restoration is a bit like the Gospel. God takes us as we are—dirty, broken, ready for the burn pile—and rescues us. He washes us clean, repairs the broken parts, clothes us the the new garments of righteousness in Christ. He’s not done with us yet, but we aren’t what we once were. 

We are too apt to take mental photographs of what we were. We take them out and look at them till we forget that’s not what we are anymore. We easily fail to see how God has washed us clean in the blood of Christ (Revelation 1:5). When all we look at is our past (and even our present) failures, we lose sight of the miracle God has already wrought, and the goal he has for us., I choose to not look back, but instead at the changes that are truly there, and the end result of holiness and Christ-likeness God has in store.

Change & Continuity

March 25, 2020

The creek that flows behind our house rushes around the bend on its way to Sunnnyside, the local swimming hole. The hole itself is a naturally-occurring hollow scoured out by the action of the water tumbling over a small waterfall. In summertime, the flow lessens to almost a trickle, never stopping completely, but with the spring thaw or in the aftermath of a storm, it rages, washing downstream branches, rocks, and debris. 

After a couple hours’ yard work this afternoon, we walked down to Sunnyside and were surprised to see how the winter’s cycle of freezing and thawing had changed the face of the falls. What last summer had been a five-foot nearly vertical drop is now well on its way to becoming a rapids. The rock had broken off in huge slabs. The froth from the falls prevent us from seeing to the bottom, so we don’t know if the slabs are still there or if they’ve washed downstream. 

Change. And Continuity. The ebb and flow of the creek constantly move tons of gravel into and through the gravel bank at the bend behind our house, and even the large slabs of rock are not impervious to the power of the water. And yet, the creek remains the same, flowing from source to sea, and in our little corner of the world, from bridge to bridge. It is a life lesson often hard to accept. 

In the past two weeks, we’ve experienced massive change in our society. “Non-essential” businesses are closed, our health care system is being taxed as never before. Many of the sick are recovering, but sadly, some are not. People are scared, doing what frightened people do when unsure of tomorrow. Like those slabs of shale that disappeared from Sunnyside, everything looks different. The ordinary changes, like the seasonal variations in our gravel bank, we can handle, but when huge rocks start moving, we get nervous.

It’s in times like this we need to remember that though even huge rocks are washed away, the creek still flows within its bounds. And will continue to do so. “Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8). He is a Rock that shall never be moved, for which we give thanks tonight.

CoronaBlessings

March 24, 2020

I’ve often listened to older people speak wistfully of days gone by when “life was slower.” Well, we have it! Some have responded with panic, emptying store shelves that normally are overflowing. Many of us bemoan not being able to gather for worship or fellowship. Still others are being creative. I’ve broken my strict Facebook Lenten fast to stay in touch with our children, and have been impressed by how they have taken what is generally an inconvenience or worse, and are making the best of it. 

Our daughter Jessie and her family have created the “Andersen/Anderson” challenge with their friends (what else?) the Andersons, inventing goofy games they can play via Facetime. Their FB post shows the Andersons in full sport attire, seemingly ready for anything.

Son Matt is seen hard at work from home, teaching math to his students, while Jeanine has enlisted (impressed?) her children into service deep cleaning the house.

Nate and crew gathered in their living room singing to the Lord in full harmony with guitar and bass accompaniment. Their neighbors the Pascoes responded with beautiful harmonies of their own. Joe must have been the videographer—a decision appreciated by all. I am a bit jealous, not being able to join them musically.

We’ve been busy. Linda painted the trim in the upstairs bathroom; a task she’s been wanting to tackle for years. Spurred on by the success of my first effort at chair caning, I retrieved an antique rocker from the garage loft, washed it down, stripped and stained it preparatory to varnish and a new seat. 

None of these things would have happened had our lives not been upended by this coronavirus. Make no mistake: it is not good, but our God is able to bring good out of the bad if we are willing to adjust and adapt. That’s the kind of God we serve in Jesus Christ. Death has its resurrection, suffering its reward, and obstacles their opportunities. Tonight, I give thanks to God, who inspired Jeremiah to write these words in the midst of the destruction I of his beloved Jerusalem:

“Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall. 

My soul has them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me. 

This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. 

It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, 

because his compassions fail not. 

They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. 

The Lord is my portion, says my soul; therefore will I hope in him. 

The Lord is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeks him.”

—Lamentations 3:19-25 KJV

Songs in the Night

March 23, 2020

A special blessing is attached to having been raised in church in the ‘50’s and ‘60’s. I grew up learning old hymns and gospel songs that have been all but forgotten by my children and grandchildren. I was present when the first wave of contemporary Christian music crashed into the shore of those old hymns, unfortunately sweeping away much that was good. I am fortunate to have had them sung into my soul as a boy, as well as being present at the birth of the contemporary Christian music that is the bread and butter of later generations. I have the best of both worlds.

This afternoon, Linda and I drove to Home Depot for some supplies I needed for a project I’m working on. After getting what I came for, we stopped in for a quick visit to Walmart for some vitamins and just a few groceries. Seeing bare shelves that just two weeks ago were filled to overflowing is mute testimony to the fear that has taken hold of many in our community and country. The shelves have signs taped to them instructing shoppers to take only one or two of whatever was on them so others would be able to get what they need. It’s like Y2K all over again.

In the midst of this fear, some of those old songs are running through my mind, so I turned on YouTube to listen. The one I was singing is over a hundred years old, written in 1904:

Be not dismayed whate'er betide

God will take care of you

Beneath His wings of love abide

God will take care of you

God will take care of you

Through every day, o'er all the way

He will take care of you

God will take care of you

No matter what may be the test

God will take care of you

Lean, weary one, upon His breast

God will take care of you

God will take care of you

Through every day, o'er all the way

He will take care of you

God will take care of you

—Civilla D. Martin

Then there was this more recent one from Bill and Gloria Gaither:

Life is easy, when you're up on the mountain

And you've got peace of mind, like you've never known

But things change, when you're down in the valley

Don't lose faith, for you're never alone

For the God on the mountain, is still God in the valley

When things go wrong, He'll make them right

And the God of the good times, is still God in the bad times

The God of the day, is still God in the night

You talk of faith when you're up on the mountain

But talk comes so easy, when life's at its best

Now it's down in the valley of trials and temptations

That's where your faith is really put to the test

For the God on the mountain, is still God in the valley

When things go wrong, He'll make them right

And the God of the good times, is still God in the bad times

The God of the day, is still God in the night

The God of the day, is still God in the night

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, would send his preachers out with two things; a Bible and a hymnal. He understood that Christian faith is sung as much as it is preached. There are songs of praise in the sunshine, but also those that help us trust in the storm. There are many more than these two. I am thankful tonight for the deep well of hymns and gospel songs that help me sing through the night. The morning will come, but until then, I will keep singing in the dark.

Even More Thankful

March 22, 2020

It seemed strange this morning, walking into the near-empty sanctuary to prepare for worship. Like many others, Park church is taking COVID-19 seriously, cancelling on-site worship as a responsible precaution. There were just ten of us in the building; the five members of the worship team, three media technicians, and pastors Joe and Brandon. The morning began with Nate leading the team in a devotional and prayer, reminding us of the unchanging presence and favor of our God even in times like these.

Technical difficulties in the live streaming kept the media team busy while pastors Joe and Brandon guided us through the new reality of our gathering by first telling us how they had prayed together for the church for twenty minutes prior to worship. As we sang our way through the songs and listened to the preaching, I was convicted by the Holy Spirit. 

Over the past seven years, I’ve worked hard at writing only that for which I am thankful. In 2012, I was convicted of my disobedience to the command of 1 Thessalonians 5:18–“In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” I didn’t realize how much criticism and complaining had built up in my heart until the Holy Spirit opened my eyes to this verse. And I didn’t know how hard it would be to switch gears and speak only that which would edify and encourage people. I seemed to have some perverse need inside me to critique and correct that which didn’t measure up to my standards. And I didn’t realize how little others paid attention to that criticism. It’s hard to believe how obtuse I had been for all those years, especially since I was a pastor.

I worked on it, and did pretty well, but I’ve noticed that even when giving thanks, I’ve developed the tendency to precede the gratitude with my displeasure with whatever is going on in the world, as if anyone needs to hear it. Thus my confession. If in reading what I’ve written, you’ve detected a note of sarcasm, bitterness, or complaint, please forgive me. And join me in giving thanks to the Lord and to his servants today who brought me into his presence and under his conviction. These are challenging times, requiring of us an extra measure of grace, and offering extra opportunities to bless others with the Good News of Jesus Christ, who has transformed, and continues to transform my life. Joe, Brandon, Nate, and team, I am humbled to stand beside you. Thank you for leading with wisdom, grace, and  with steady hands and hearts.

Not Here, Not Yet

March 21, 2020

Today’s reading is from the Gospel of John, chapter 11–the story of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. Jesus’ affirmation that “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” is one of the great promises in the Bible, often used at funerals. But there is in this chapter another, perhaps more pertinent message for us in these uncertain days. This incident is all about unanswered prayer. The words, first from Martha, then from Mary—“Lord if you had been here...” echo in our own hearts. How often have we prayed, even begged the Lord to show up and work his stuff, only to hear deafening silence in return?

“Why aren’t you here when we need you, Lord?” Where do we think he was when we prayed? Somewhere else, answering someone else’s prayer? Was he not hearing, not listening to the cry of our hearts? Martha and Mary’s cry is ours; “Why did our brother die? You could have done something, but you didn’t show up. Why is everything going wrong? If you had been here...” We dare not speak what we feel—that it’s all God’s fault. 

But as in chapter six, verse six, when he commanded his disciples to feed 5,000 people with whatever they had, he knew what he was going to do. The impossible was going to become possible! But there was still this unanswered prayer, and the sense of foreboding that was beginning to envelop them. Thomas gave expression to it when he said, “We might as well go, that we may die with him.” He knew the dangers that swirled in the shadows of Jerusalem.

So after all hope was gone, they went. Had Jesus gone to Lazarus immediately upon hearing the news of his illness, he would have healed him, but would have lost the occasion that put into motion the events leading to his Crucifixion. In verse four, he tells us this was all happening so God’s glory could be revealed in him. He wasn’t speaking of the raising of Lazarus, but of himself... upon a cross. God’s glory—the unveiling of God’s great love and holiness would come, but it had to pass through the unanswered prayers of Martha and Mary, who couldn’t understand, nor conceive of a greater good than the healing of their brother. 

We pray with clouded vision, seeing only that which is immediately before us. The mists of the mystery of God’s plan hide a greater glory, and the veil is not always pulled back for us to see. So we pray, sometimes seeing answers, but often not. Christ is not absent when we pray. He may choose to remain hidden, but he is here nonetheless. He may delay for a greater glory we cannot see nor understand. And we pray, not so he might come, but so we might see and trust him through the tragedy we see all too plainly, for a greater glory yet unseen.

Theological Virus

March 20, 2020

Life has slowed down around here. Our governor’s decree shuttering businesses deemed non-essential has produced an almost eerie sense of impending doom. We won’t be gathering for worship Sunday—something I haven’t missed in years except for sickness. Earlier today, upon reading some entries in a clergy WhatsApp group, I posed a question. I quote:

“I know I’m just an old curmudgeon, but at what point to we Christians refuse to burn that pinch of incense and say, “Caesar (or Cuomo) is Lord?” A pastor’s job is in part, to protect the flock, but are we protecting people from a virus at the cost of exposing them to spiritual, social, and perhaps political bondage? What are the theological implications of our responses to such directives?”

The responses to my question dealt only with the wisdom of following medical advice, the need to protect our vulnerable parishoners, etc. When I went to seminary a lifetime ago, we were taught that of all people, we pastors needed to think theologically about life issues. “No one else will do that,” we were told. Not a single respondent even tried to deal with my theological question. 

I have no beef with pastors who decide to close their churches because of this virus. I understand their concern for the elderly (of which I am officially, a member). My question was simply to ask, “Who is Lord? Who gets to make these decisions?” I hope I can be forgiven for my concern over the blurring of the boundaries between church and state, but the issue of ultimate loyalty has always been at the heart of the Gospel, and considering the theological implications of what is happening in our world is not a side issue. I for one, am thankful that Jesus Christ is the One to whom I owe ultimate loyalty. He alone sees clearly and loves completely, no matter what.

On a lighter note, as Linda and I were working in the yard today (the temperature hit the mid-fifties, making yard work a pleasant interlude from our government-imposed isolation), we decided to bring out the patio furniture that was stored in the basement. She went down the stairs to open the cellar door, but couldn’t do it. Turns out, the entry block wall had partially collapsed. We hadn’t noticed it from outside, but there was no mistaking it. Why is this a lighter note, you ask? Because we had already determined to build a laundry room right over that entry, and needed to remove it in order to lay the foundation for the larger room above. As long as it had to come down anyway, there is no harm, no foul. As a matter of fact, it makes the job a bit easier. God sometimes looks out for us in the strangest of ways.

Knowing

March 19, 2020

We often wonder what it would be like to be able to see into the future. When I was growing up in the fifties, Dick Tracy cartoons were a staple in the daily papers. Chester Gould first put pen to paper back in 1931, bringing to life his square-jawed detective; fifteen years later Tracy sported a wrist-radio, a product of Gould’s imagination that wouldn’t become reality until the Apple Watch debuted in 2014. 

We imagine seeing the future to be a great gift when in fact, it would more likely be a curse. While it might be beneficial when investing in the stock market or betting on horses, would you really want to know that you were going to be in a horrific car accident next week, or that you were destined to stand helplessly by, watching your child suffer through addiction, divorce, or death? These things happen, but the constant dread of knowing every bad thing that was coming our way would more than cancel out the joy of knowing the good things. We worry enough about the little we know; if the entire future were open to us, we would be in a continual panic. Years ago, Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone aired an episode where a soldier could see who was going to die in battle that day. When he looked at them, he would see them enveloped in light. Before nightfall, those soldiers were dead. Men came to him, desperate to know, but terrified when told. One morning while shaving, he saw his reflection in the mirror glowing, and knew that this day would be his last. Knowing is not necessarily a blessing.

That being said, it is good to know the future is not mere happenstance. It’s tempting to say God sees into the future, but in reality, with God, there is no future. Or past. All is present to him. One of the consequences of this is that with God, there is no such thing as uncharted territory. He sees it all. In John 10, Jesus speaks of himself as the Good Shepherd and of us as the sheep of his flock. In the fourth verse, says the good shepherd “goes before the sheep.” Whatever else this means, one thing for sure—there is no path we tread where he has not already gone. When going through hard times, it’s not just that he is with us; he has gone before us and knows the way. If I were a soldier walking through a minefield, I wouldn’t merely want someone walking alongside me; I’d want someone who has successfully walked through that field before; someone who knows where it’s safe and where it’s not. Someone merely beside me might detonate a mine that would maim or kill us both, but someone who has gone before knows.

We are walking today through what to us is uncharted territory. We don’t know how things will be tomorrow. A couple months ago, we dreamed, planned, and thought we knew. Now we know how much we don’t know. But Jesus Christ has gone before us, so even if we don’t know the way, it’s OK. He has been this way before, and will safely lead us to his destination. He goes before us. For this we can give thanks tonight.

Night Prayers

March 18, 2020

I rarely have trouble sleeping. Of course at my age, I wake up once or twice a night to make a trip to the bathroom, but I’m back sound asleep within seconds of getting back into bed. It drives Linda crazy. If she wakes up, her mind starts running all over the place with her. She prays, recites Scripture, and if that doesn’t work, she will finally head for the couch where she will turn the tv on low. She says the background noise helps her sleep, but it may take a couple shows for her to nod off. I’ve tried praying when I wake up, but can’t organize any rational thoughts before I’m asleep again.

This morning was different. I woke before five this morning and was wide awake. On those rare occasions when this happens, I figure God is making an appointment with me, so I got up, worked out, showered, and prayed before heading to Dunkirk to pray with two other pastors. We always begin with a psalm to focus our prayers in Scripture. Today’s was Psalm 16. The seventh verse reads, “I will bless the LORD who has given me counsel; My heart also instructs me in the night seasons.” 

The psalm continues, “I have set the LORD always before me; Because he is at my right hand I shall not be moved.” (v.8). Twenty-four hour news is not always a good thing. What we think about determines how we feel about life. Continual coverage of COVID-19 has many in a panic. The shelves in the supermarkets are nearly barren as people stock up in fear. It’s not surprising; the news is depressing. Which is why in times like these, psalms like this are so important. When I set the Lord before me—when I focus on him, I find a center that is steady and keeps me steady. Today it started early when I answered that morning call, then followed it up with Scripture and prayers that prevent the senseless downward spiral of thought and emotion that plagues so many people right now. 

“O LORD, you are the portion of my inheritance and my cup; you maintain my lot.” (v.5). The world is trembling today, but God is on our side, providing and securing to us what he has provided for us. The words of St. Paul are good ones with which to end the day: “I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.” (2 Timothy 1:12). He is able. That is enough.

St. Patrick’s Day Faith

March 17, 2020

 Fifty years ago, I was able to speak quite easily about the peace Jesus gives those who believe. Forty-five years ago, it was not nearly so easy. Fifty years ago, I was about to be married, was serving a small EUB church in Alma, New York, a tiny hamlet nestled in the hills of Allegany County. If I stood at my back door, I could almost throw a stone across the Pennsylvania state line. The church, a general store, a single-bay fire station, and a couple dozen houses—that was Alma. It was as idyllic as one could imagine. Five years later, we lived in the Humbolt Park area of Chicago, at the intersection of the ethnic white, Black, and Hispanic neighborhoods. Sirens were an hourly occurrance; it was necessary to lock the door even when we were in our tiny back yard. Suddenly, it wasn’t as easy to speak of the “peace that passes understanding.”

The question kept nagging in the back of my mind—was the peace I had felt in Alma the work of the Holy Spirit, or simply the pleasant pastoral surroundings there? I’ve never since spoken easily about the peace of God.

The news has been filled with COVID-19, the coronavirus. It’s non-stop, and as such, it’s hard to know how much of it is media hype and how much is real. This much I know: people are in a panic. The store shelves are empty of toilet paper and prepared meals. In one breath, officials tell us to stay calm, and in the next, they tell us they are shutting down schools, restaurants, bars, casinos, and movie theaters, with more restrictions threatened. The stock market has plunged, workers in these professions are suddenly without income, and we are told it’s only going to get worse. 

Preachers talk a lot about faith; I’ve done so for years. It’s easy to talk about when your income is regular, the store shelves are full, and life is pretty predictable. Suddenly, we have the opportunity to actually practice what we preach. As things have developed recently, I’ve been taken back to those Alma and Chicago days when I had to sort out that business of the peace of God, only now it is in the area of faith. Am I really trusting God? I feel that twinge of concern which makes me evaluate my own faith; if I look around me, there’s not much to give hope. It’s only when I center myself in the promises of God and in Jesus Christ that I am calm.

Ephesians 1:20-21 tells us that Jesus is ascended and seated at the right hand of the Father. This is biblical language for his being in a place of authority. In the second chapter, Paul reminds us that we are “in” Christ, seated with him. This coronavirus is no surprise to God. He wasn’t blindsided by it, and is not in a panic over it. Neither should we be. 

For nearly fifteen years, Park church has held a St. Patrick’s Day corned beef and cabbage dinner. The money raised helps support our annual mission trip to West Virginia. In response to the directive to minimize gatherings, for the first time, we offered only take-outs. I wondered how people would respond. I figured that by not coming for a sit down meal, this year’s profit would take somewhat of a dip. Instead, we served more meals than ever before, with the added bonus of not having to wash dishes! God knew, and proved his faithfulness even here. If the Lord takes a bad situation and makes us come out even better than before, I can only imagine what he plans to do in the weeks ahead. It’s going to be different, but it’s also going to be good! As a bonus, we are being given the opportunity to stretch and demonstrate our faith as never before. I will sleep peacefully and thankfully tonight.

Hearing Gladly

March 16, 2020

“The common people heard Him gladly.” —Mark 12:37 NKJV

Then the officers came to the chief priests and Pharisees, who said to them, “Why have you not brought Him?” The officers answered, “No man ever spoke like this Man!” Then the Pharisees answered them, “Are you also deceived? Have any of the rulers or the Pharisees believed in Him? But this crowd that does not know the law is accursed.”” —John 7:45-49 NKJV

Wherever Jesus went, he stirred up controversy. People either loved him or hated him; the only middle ground was with those who didn’t understand him. What is interesting is who fell into each camp. The line of demarcation was pretty clear: ordinary people loved him; the elite, the educated, the politically connected hated him. Things haven’t changed much in the intervening centuries. Society is still divided into the haves and the have-nots, the privileged few and the ordinary hoi polloi, the in crowd, and the outcasts. Those on the top of the heap usually think they know better than everyone beneath them, and are willing to use whatever power and influence they have to control the masses. 

The problem is, in the long run, it’s the ordinary people who get it right. As often as not, those who spend their lives manipulating and controlling, making decisions for everyone else, promulgate solutions that have unintended consequences that only create more problems. Ordinary people have a way of sniffing out manipulation even if they have no means to counteract it. But pride still goes before a fall; those who make momentous decisions may not live to see the downside of their actions, but their children and grandchildren do.

The spread of the coronavirus has produced all sorts of reactions by those in power. Warnings and precautions are quickly being replaced by commands—the closing of schools, shutting down of businesses, and travel restrictions. Time will tell if it’s justified, but if history is any indication, the mandates coming out of Albany and Washington may prove to be killing a mosquito with a cannon. I hope I’m wrong, but right or wrong, I am thankful tonight that my security and future is in Christ’s hands. I’ll hear him gladly any day.

Bi-Polar Faith

March 15, 2020

“I delight to do Your will, O my God, And Your law is within my heart.”

My iniquities have overtaken me, so that I am not able to look up; They are more than the hairs of my head; Therefore my heart fails me.” —Psalms 40:8, 12 NKJV

In the space of three verses in this song (the psalms ARE songs!), the composer goes from speaking of his delight in God’s will to grieving over sins that have overwhelmed him. How does one go from one extreme to the other so quickly? It feels like he is almost bi-polar, cycling from ecstasy to despair in the space of mere seconds. Were parts of the Bible written by unstable people? Strangely enough, the answer to that question is, “yes,” but not here. Today,  we would say Jeremiah suffered from depression, Ezekiel was perhaps schizophrenic, and king Saul was paranoid. But this psalm was written from the midst of sanity.

Context is everything in Bible study. Warren Wolsey, college professor from years ago often told us that “a text without a context is a pretext.” The context of these words is found as the psalm opens—

“I waited patiently for the LORD; 

And He inclined to me, 

And heard my cry. 

He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, 

Out of the miry clay, 

And set my feet upon a rock, 

And established my steps. 

He has put a new song in my mouth— 

Praise to our God; 

Many will see it and fear, And will trust in the LORD.”

—Psalms 40:1-3 NKJV

The reason he delights in doing God’s will is because he realizes how much God did for him when he brought him out of the pit he was in. His sins had overwhelmed him; he could see no reason for hope, and as a result, his heart failed him, ie. he had given up. When all hope was gone, God rescued him. He remembered all too well where he had been, and was therefore grateful for all God had done for him. 

Those love God best who have been forgiven much. If I am passive and blasé about my faith, I need only to consider what God has done for me. If I forget the depth of my sins, I cannot know the height of Christ’s love. I remember, not to live in regret and despair, but that I might live in gratitude and delight-filled service.

Life and Death

March 14, 2020

John Maxwell asks, “What do you do with the apostle Paul?” Though they desperately wanted to, the authorities couldn’t figure out how to control him. 

“Paul, we’re going to put you in prison.” 

“Been there; no problem.”

“Paul, we’re going to throw rocks at you.”

“OK. That’s been done before.”

“Paul, we’re going to beat you.”

“With whips, rods, or fists?”

“Paul, we’ll kill you.”

“I’m already dead. I’ve been crucified with Christ.”

Paul could not be bought, threatened, or manipulated. As he told the Corinthian Christians, he was “bought with a price, not his own.” He belonged to Jesus Christ and feared no one except God. Even when warned that imprisonment and death awaited him if he insisted on going to Jerusalem, his only response was “I am ready not only to be jailed in Jerusalem, but even to die for the sake of the Lord Jesus.” Writing from jail to the Philippian Christians, he said, “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (1:21).

People who live for power are always quick to manipulate circumstances to control others. It doesn’t take much of an excuse for them to use even the slightest crisis to decree how others should live, and those who have no horizon beyond themselves are easy pickings. We’re already seeing it with the coronavirus. Though cancer kills more people every day than this virus has since it’s been first identified, it’s the virus that is shutting down schools, businesses, government, and travel. Though apparently dangerous to a small percentage of those who contract the disease, fear is in the driver’s seat. Our local grocery has plenty of food, but is out of toilet paper. The owner tries to explain to people that if nothing is going in, nothing’s going to come out. But it’s toilet paper he’s out of.

Historically, past epidemics have provided Christians with golden opportunities to minister to people no one else was willing to have near them. They did so at risk of their own lives, and often paid the price. Nevertheless, their obedience to Christ and their love for others impelled them to care for those most in need. Faith overcame fear. 

Writing as one not infected, I could be accused of hypocrisy. “What would you do if people you know came down with it?” I could be asked. My response would be to wash my hands and continue doing what I had been doing. And as a seventy-year-old and therefore an at-risk person myself, with Paul, I say, “I am crucified with Christ;” my life is in God’s hands, for which I am thankful tonight. It keeps me from manipulation.

Clocks

March 13, 2020

Occasionally, Linda tells about her grandfather who collected cuckoo clocks. When she was a little girl the family occasionally visited his farm in Conewango. He always complied when the girls begged him to wind all the clocks. Her grandmother was never too pleased when fifty cuckoo clocks began to chime, one after another. Sadly, he died when she was young, and no one seems to know what happened to all those clocks. 

I like old clocks. You can have your electric hummers; give me an old windup any day. The steady tick-tock is soothing to me. Every so often an old clock has to be adjusted; they’re persnickety. They don’t necessarily keep the best time, and don’t automatically adjust for Daylight Savings like my phone. I go from room to room through the house every week, winding them up and adjusting their movements. If we weren’t a bit shy of wall, mantle, or floor space, I would have more. Just the other day, I managed to snag a beautiful old wall clock for our bedroom, but may need to figure out how to mute the hourly chime if we want to sleep through the night.

When I was a kid, we had Vacation Bible School at our church for two weeks every summer. I was no more than eleven this one particular summer; our class was in the balcony where it was stiflingly hot. I don’t remember the specifics of the lesson, but I do remember the memory verse we learned: “My times are in thy hand” (Ps. 31:15). We made little pretend clocks as a craft project. Why that memory sticks with me, I don’t know, but I do know the comfort I’ve experienced in the assurance that my life is in God’s hands. As St. Paul said, 

“For me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better. But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don’t know which is better. I’m torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me. But for your sakes, it is better that I continue to live.” —Philippians 1:21-24 NLT

I watch people get all worked up over this coronavirus and am thankful that even though I am an older adult—one of those most at risk, I have no worries. I’d like to claim that I have no frets because I play the string bass, but really it’s because I know my life is hid with Christ in God. 

When one is young, time seems to stretch on forever, but the older I get, the horizon looms ever closer. These old clocks remind me of simpler, slower times when one had to regularly maintain stuff with routines like my winding of the clocks. They remind me of my mortality—that life is precious; every tick-tock, every chime marks something I will never get back. I am much more careful to invest time wisely; I don’t tolerate fools as easily as once I did. To keep things running requires attention, sometimes tediously. The constant ticking on the wall makes me aware that each moment is valuable, so I choose carefully how I will invest it. In a time when we have become addicted to our electronic devices, I work at resisting the pull of the screen. I’ve often told our grandchildren that they’ll never look back on these days and say, “Remember that day we stared at our phones?” But they will remember the times we sat around the table talking about what was the best thing that happened that day, or the laughter as we played games together.

Maybe I like old clocks simply because they are old, like me. Like my clocks, I need tending to more than I used to, but so far, I keep ticking. Some day, the pendulum will stand still; the hands will no longer glide around the face. When that day comes, Christ my Savior will wind me up one last time, and I will chime his praises for eternity.