Belated Bees

July 31, 2020

The bees will have to wait until tomorrow. My original plan had been to take a peek into the hives today after having lunch with #1 granddaughter (that’s in chronological order, not an order of affection). I had a wonderful time with Alex, talking of life, of plans, and how God often takes us down paths we didn’t even know were there until we started walking them. As Eisenhower said, “Plans are nothing; Planning is everything.” If nothing else, the political reaction to COVID has shown us that our best plans can come unravelled in the blink of an eye.

Like today. Instead of bees, I raked and loaded branches and leaves from the past three or four days of cutting and stacking wood from the trees we had cut down last week. I thought i could do both, but it wasn’t meant to bee (get it?). Fortunately, apis mellifera doesn’t require daily attention like our lazy dog and cat. Besides that, unlike canis lupus and felis catus, (Emma and Hector, respectively), the honeybee actually works for a living, and pays me to take care of her. 

So tomorrow if it doesn’t rain, I’ll take off the lid, pry out the frames, and check to see how the queen is doing and how strong the colony is. Hopefully, they’ll be ready for another super (the boxes that hold the frames for the larvae and honey). If ready, I’ll put them on and they should be good to go, and like so much in life, they may prosper and reward me, or they may turn out to be duds. Life is uncertain, but it is good, nonetheless, and I am looking forward to getting an inside glimpse into the workings of the hive. Maybe I’ll get a good look too, at the workings of life.

Children’s Children

July 30, 2020

God’s blessings often come from close to home. Last week, we had three dying trees taken down; yesterday we began to clean things up, chunking up the trunks and collecting the branches to be picked up by the village crew. It is hot, backbreaking work, especially for a geezer and his bride. Enter Nathan. No, not that one...our grandson—“Little Nathan,” although. not so little anymore. He’s more than halfway through his twelfth year, and let me tell you—that kid knows how to work! He’s especially fond of the tractor, so while I chunked up the trunks, he operated the equipment, gathering the chunks and stacking them to be split, gathering up branches and taking them to the roadside, and even dragging the stump up the bank after it had rolled into the creek. It took a bit of work, but he got it done.

After about four hours, Linda and I were pretty well knackered, but he wanted to finish, so he kept picking up branches and gathering the chunks while I worked on the backhoe and Linda got supper ready. 

The Bible tells us that one of the blessings of walking with God is seeing it play out in the lives not only of your children, but your grandchildren. God’s promises aren’t like candy in a vending machine—put in your money, pull the lever, and out pops the desired result. It’s a lot of work, prayer, and mercy, but it’s still a promise.

“Blessed is every one who fears the LORD, 

Who walks in His ways. 

When you eat the labor of your hands, 

You shall be happy, and it shall be well with you. 

Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine 

In the very heart of your house, 

Your children like olive plants 

All around your table. 

Behold, thus shall the man be blessed 

Who fears the LORD. 

The LORD bless you out of Zion, 

And may you see the good of Jerusalem 

All the days of your life. 

Yes, may you see your children’s children. 

Peace be upon Israel!” —Psalm 128:1-6 NKJV

I am thankful tonight to be recipient of this family blessing in the form of our grandson Nathan.

Fire and Water

July 29, 2020

The first one finally broke. It was bent when I got it, but worked until I put it under a little too much strain. It was the pin that controlled the pitch of the bucket on my backhoe. Without it, the bucket just hung there, useless. I couldn’t find any replacement pins at Tractor Supply or even the local heavy equipment dealership, but the service rep suggested having the local steel fabricator cut me a piece, which I did. Ten bucks later, I was driving home with the pivot pin in hand.

Taking it to my son the knifemaker, he drilled the retaining pin holes and with help from my brother in law, I soon had the pin in place. There was just one problem—without even putting any load on it, the pin folded like a cheap suit. Back to square one. Whatever I find to make the pin from needs to be hardened steel. But there is a necessary process that has to be carried out in proper order. It has to be cut to length and drilled before hardening. Once it’s hardened, there’ll be no drilling. And it has to be the right kind of steel. I don’t know one kind from another, but my son informed me that the steel he uses for making knives isn’t going to work because it can only be surface hardened and would still be too soft for my purposes. 

The hardening process is done by fire and quenching. Most of us have seen movies where red hot steel is quenched in a bucket of water. It’s not quite that simple. Most of my son’s quenching is done in oil. Sometimes it’s done quickly, sometimes slowly, depending on the results sought. I’m not sure how we’re going to get this pin done, but I know the process and the order. It must be worked while soft, heated, then quenched—and all by someone who knows what they’re doing.

Life is like that. God shapes us, working the soul when it’s malleable. Sometimes he heats things till we feel we’re going to melt, then he starts hammering away. The blows fall heavy and fast, and the soul begins taking shape. Then comes the shock of quenching that reorganizes the molecules of the heart, aligning them with the purposes of the Blacksmith, before he grinds and polishes till we are sharp and useful. The fires of adversity are never pleasant, and the Blacksmith’s muscles bulge as the sweat trickles down his forehead. But he keeps at it until satisfied with the end result, all the while we are often complaining and praying for the fire to be extinguished, unaware that it is the fire that shapes us into the right instrument for the task at hand. The fire may be hot, and the shock of quenching may jar the soul, but it is worth it if we fully become what the Blacksmith envisions.

Three...No...Four!

July 28, 2020

My nightly musings began more than seven years ago with a scripted list of three things each day for which to be thankful. I’ve often strayed from the script in the intervening years, but occasionally revisit it, or at least the pattern of threes.

Tonight I am thankful for brunch with my granddaughter Abi. She will be headed back to college soon enough, and I wanted time with her to hear her heart. We talked about life, love, the future, all the uncertainty that surrounds us. There is plenty enough of that these days, so the only wisdom I had to give was to remind her that boats don’t sink because of the water all around them; they sink when the water gets into them, so don’t let all the fear and garbage of the world get inside. 

There are few delights for someone in the gerontological generation than seeing the world through young eyes. Abi’s are wide open, and I pray they may continue to be so, to notice the traps the Enemy has set, but even more, the opportunities God places before her.

While we were talking, a phone call came through from my eye doctor. Driving at night has become increasingly challenging; I often see double. Seeing two sets of taillights ahead where you know there is only one vehicle can be a bit challenging. A bit of advice here: aim between them. The Dr. told me it’s my age, and that he can add a prism in my prescription that should help. The real good news is that he will be retired before the cataracts developing in my eyes will need surgery. It’s good news because he’s not a geezer like me, so I’ll be able to avoid the knife for some years to come.

Dropping Abi off at work, I drove over to see my friend Harry. A cup of espresso on his porch not only tickled my taste buds, but filled my soul. Coffee and conversation with a Christian brother; it’s hard to beat!

When I got home, work awaited. A call to grandson Nathan was all it took to launch us into a clean up the yard project. We had three dying ash trees taken down last week, and it was time to begin cleaning up the mess. A little over an hour, and we were pooped, but one tree is done!  

Well, that’s four, not three, but I never was good at math. As my daughter in law says, “Look for the joy.” It’s not hard to find, and it’s much better than the junk this world offers.

Pick it Up

July 27, 2020

The parallelism in Psalm 116 is clear. Verses 13-14 read, “I will take up the cup of salvation and call upon the Name of the LORD. I will pay my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people.” This is repeated word for word in verses 17-18 with a singular difference: It begins with, “I will offer to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving,” before continuing with the same “And will call upon the name of the LORD. I will pay my vows to the LORD Now in the presence of all His people,”

The first set is preceded by “taking the cup of salvation,” the second by “offering the sacrifice of thanksgiving.” A deliberate connection between these two thoughts is made by the identical phrases that follow. So the question becomes, “How do we actually take up the cup of salvation?” Picture salvation as wine in a cup. It is there, waiting to be grasped and lifted to the lips. How do we actually do that? By giving thanks even when it is difficult to do so—when gratitude is offered sacrificially, when we give thanks in the midst of heart-rending grief, when the body is wracked with pain, when the soul has been abandoned and betrayed, when it feels as if God himself has forsaken us. Gratitude is the means by which we reach out and grasp the cup of salvation and drink deeply. It is sacrificial, but salvation always is. In the midst of your pain, take up this cup and drink. It will slake your thirst and save your soul.

Ashamed

July 26, 2020

The early Methodist circuit rider Peter Cartwright was no shrinking violet. One Sunday morning, he was advised to tone down his preaching because president Andrew Jackson was going to be present. When he began preaching, Cartwright stood up and proclaimed to the shock of those advisors, “I understand that Andrew Jackson is here. I have been requested to be guarded in my remarks. Andrew Jackson will go to hell if he doesn’t repent!” The congregation was shocked, wondering how the President would respond. Jackson was not known for his tolerance, so when he approached Cartwright after the service, Peter’s friends were understandably concerned. But rather than taking offense, Jackson stood tall before Cartwright, shook his hand,  and told him, “Sir, if I had a regiment of men like you, I could whip the world.”

It was not unusual for hecklers to attend Cartwright’s meetings, and he was not adverse to wading into the crowd, knock a few heads together and send the hecklers packing.

It would be quite entertaining to have preachers like that today. The usual Sunday fare is pretty tame by comparison. We talk exclusively about love, peace, kindness, gentleness, and wonder why if our churches are filled at all, it is mostly women. We’ve ignored the call of God to sacrificial greatness in favor of conciliatory words that are taken as weakness. The only time we are called to stand courageously in the face of evil is when some issue the summons to protest in the midst of a faceless crowd.

Many of our churches have done a good job communicating that Christian faith is for women and children. The decor is feminine, we sing love songs to Jesus, and place people in rows reminiscent of elementary school classrooms. We encourage people to love, but say little about daily pragmatic sacrificial service. If someone doesn’t fit this mold, he is shamed into either submission or disengagement. Our culture today is shame-full. If someone dares to counter the cultural norm, he is ostracized, told how unloving and callous he is, and pressured to toe the line. Just look at the CEOs and corporate heads who have caved in to the prevailing mantras of the day. 

Psalm 25:2 is the cry of one who resists this crowd-think: “Let me not be ashamed!” The Gospel of Jesus Christ contains a clarion call not only to love and grace, but also to boldness and courage. Jesus bore our sin and shame upon the cross. The shame of Adam has been conquered by the sacrifice of Christ. The shame which held us captive to our secret sins has been washed away in the life-giving flood of grace, and we can stand boldly to proclaim with St. Paul, “I am not ashamed! The Gospel of Christ is the power of God to salvation to everyone who believes” (Romans 1:16). Thank God for men like Peter Cartwright, and for saints like Peter and Paul, who gave their lives for Christ, unashamed of the Gospel. May we join their ranks with joyful enthusiasm!

Still Praising

July 25, 2020

Psalm 84:4–_“Blessed are those who dwell in Your house; they will still be praising you.” Two words stand out to me in this short verse: “dwell” and “still.” 

Most of us don’t dwell in God’s house much. Mind you, I’m not speaking of the church building we sometimes refer to as “God’s house,” although a case could be made for the disastrous effects of our failure to spend time together in worship. I’m speaking of being in a mindset where we are consciously and continuously aware of God’s Presence through the Holy Spirit. We don’t dwell there much. We visit, pay our respects, drop in for awhile, but our real home is elsewhere. We hang our hats not on the Sacraments or proclamation of the Word, but on the evening news. We make our beds with diversions, eat our meals at the fleshpots of Egypt. 

Our time in the house of God is fleeting, and the effect of our neglect is our inability to praise God when the going gets tough. When all is well, we praise easily; our hands are lifted high, tears may course down our cheeks. When trouble comes, we may continue to praise, but when that trouble persists, are we still praising? Or does our praise turn to pouting, our worship to worry, and our courage to complaint? And all because we aren’t dwelling in the house of God.

O my soul—leave all else behind and run back to the place where God dwells, that you may still praise him when others have ceased their songs. Send your roots deep into the soil where the rivers run deep and never dry up. Dwell in the house of the Lord, and you will still praise him, even through the storm.

Communion

July 24, 2020

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she sat, slowly chewing. I should have known, but it just hadn’t occurred to me until two weeks before when she had almost inadvertently said, “I can’t remember the last time I had communion.” Mom has been housebound for years; like I said, I should have known. 

So just before dinner this afternoon, I placed before her one of her hand painted dessert plates on which sat a small dinner roll and a tiny cup filled with grape juice. The words are as simple as they are ageless: “The Body of Christ broken for you preserve your soul unto everlasting life. Take and eat; feed on him in your heart by faith, and be thankful.” We ate and drank together, mother and son, her eyes welling up as I prayed for us both. Almost as quickly as I began, it was over, except for the lingering Presence.

The Church calls it a mystery—something we believe and experience, but can’t explain. We also call it a “means of grace,” which is another way of saying God is doing something that makes a difference, that makes us better—more like Christ. In his letter to the Ephesian Christians, St. Paul repeatedly states that we are “in Christ,” and in Holy Communion, we state that Christ is in us. I cannot tell what my aged mother experienced today, but I know it moved her even as I was humbled and honored to be able to offer to her this gift of love. Her tears I saw; mine I felt.

What Are We Doing Here?

Sometimes we don’t know as much as we think we know. Once upon a time, I thought I knew how to grow a church. Park was thriving; I was successful. I knew how to grow a church. Until I didn’t. In the space of about three months, nearly everything I had worked for for the previous fifteen years evaporated. We were struggling, not sure if we would survive. We did, but we went through the wringer in the process. Turned out, I didn’t know much at all.

It was the Elijah story all over again. He had just had a smashing victory and was sitting on top of the world. Until Jezebel came along. She was not someone to be trifled with, and let it be known in no uncertain terms that he was in her crosshairs. Elijah did what any courageous man of God would do. He ran. Long and hard. After forty days, he ended up at Horeb, the mountain of God. After a dazzling display of power, God spoke. In silence, if you can imagine that. 

Elijah complained about how he was being treated. I think he expected God to feel sorry for him, to commiserate with him. But the God of all mercy was merciless. Instead of throwing an arm around him and saying, “There, there; you poor prophet,” he threw down the gauntlet. “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He thundered. All Elijah could do was repeat his complaint, to which God repeated his challenge. “What are you doing here?”

God wasn’t done with him, but before he could lead him into his future, he needed Elijah to do a little soul-searching. So often when we complain about our circumstances, we want God to comfort us, but instead, he confronts us. God had a plan for Elijah, and he has a plan for us, no matter how desperate and hopeless our situation seems. But it begins where we are right now. Why are we where we are right now? And what are we doing while we’re here? While we are busy questioning where God is when we’re hurting, he’s busy trying to question us, hoping we’ll begin to look seriously at ourselves and our situation. Because only when we see clearly where we are can we begin to move into the future God has. 

For the past five months, many of us have been complaining to God, telling him how badly mistreated we have been and how unfair this COVID-19 has been. If we haven’t griped out loud, I suspect we have done so behind closed doors, and all along, I suspect also that God has been asking, “What are you doing here?” We get so busy questioning God that we aren’t hearing him questioning and challenging us. Maybe we need to stop complaining and blaming long enough to listen to God. I know I need to do this. 

So, what are you doing here, wherever in the midst of this pandemic that may be? Whatever it is, be assured, God isn’t finished with you, any more than he was finished with Elijah. You have a future. You have hope. And for that you can be thankful.

‘Available

July 22, 2020

The rain followed me all the way to Rochester, for which I am quite thankful tonight. Mom is doing better than she wishes, and I have the privilege of caring for her for the next couple days.  It will give me time to do some much needed preparation for the next time I preach; time I need to listen, read, and pray. I don’t think I’m much different than most Christians, in that even though I take time each day to read and pray, there are plenty of days when it feels like I’m just going through the motions and not really connecting with God. Listening to some people talk about their walk with Christ, my drought times would bother me more except for one fact: the people we think of as heroes of the Bible often went for years between memorable encounters with God.

I’ve been reading in Genesis about Abraham. We first hear of him when he’s seventy-five. He immigrates from Ur of the Chaldeans to Palestine, then travels to Egypt to escape a famine. According to the text, God speaks to him once between his arrival in Palestine and the visitation of the angels when he is ninety-nine. They converse a couple times over the next year or so, when Isaac is born, and not again until Isaac is around fifteen.

We have the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, so we don’t have to endure long intervals before God speaks to us. A few days or even weeks may be nothing more than the ebb and flow of our energies or attentiveness. I’m not always at my peak when it comes to anything, including my walk with Christ. I wish I were, but I’m not. The Good News is that there is never any change in Christ’s availability to me. He is always here, and if I take the time, he makes himself known. For that, I am thankful tonight.

Diet

July 22, 2020

He works out for two hours every other day at the gym, runs five miles on the off days, and though quite muscular, he can’t seem to get rid of that roll around his belly. His wife does mild cardio for about 30 minutes three times a week, and since beginning her routine, has lost ten pounds and three dress sizes. What’s the difference? In a word, diet. 

Not the “constantly counting calories” kind of diet, but diet in the sense of simply eating sparingly, with healthy portions of home-cooked vegetables, proper carbs and protein. He gently chides her for her refusal to join him indulging in late-night ice cream or donuts at the drive-through Tim’s, and his nibbling throughout the day.

One of the mottos of the workout trainer I follow on YouTube is, “You can’t out train a bad diet.”  In the above fictional (but quite factual) scenario, the husband is at cross-purposes with his goals. It happens to most of us; we want the end result, but cut so many corners in the process that we lose our way. I know. I’ve kept steadfast to a workout routine, thinking it alone would get me to my goal, but it was only when I got serious about my eating habits that I started seeing the changes I had been looking for. And to be truthful, I backslide more than I like to admit.

I’m really interested however, in how this translates to our spiritual well-being. I know the allure of the latest news, whether it be on TV, in the newspaper, or in a Facebook or email subscription. It’s always tempting to check on these matters first thing in the morning, and is often the last thing we look at before going to sleep. So what makes us think we can get in spiritual shape by simply adding a devotional reading to our junk food diet of media? It’s like expecting an extra helping of carrots or beans is going to negate the ill effects of all that spiritual and psychological junk food. Facebook, television, mindless novels and movies cannot build the spiritual muscle and endurance we need for life. In fact, they prevent the good discipline of Bible reading, prayer, and worship from actually transforming our spiritual bodies. 

It’s not easy; no discipline ever is. Our sick and troubled souls crave the junk food of this world, and protest when we engage in a spiritual diet or fasting. If we’re honest, we like the junk food, even as it is slowly killing us. I’m working on eating right so I’m not wasting my workouts; it’s time I got more serious about doing the same for my soul.

Praising His Glory

July 20, 2020

Three times in the first chapter of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, he speaks of the things God has done on our behalf in Jesus Christ as ultimately being not only for our salvation and rescue from the bondage of sin, but also as having been accomplished for an even greater purpose, viz, “the praise of his glory” (vv. 6, 12, 14). In other words, God has acted to save us so that we might offer praise that honors and glorifies God the Father.

Much has been written about all God has done for us in Jesus Christ; entire libraries could be filled with such works. A common thread in the older theologies is their focus on God as both the Source and the Goal of the Father’s work in Christ. The emphasis is on our being propitiated to God, his wrath against sin being turned away in the Cross. In this, the ancient divines followed St. Paul’s logic in Ephesians 1. The greatness of our salvation is the theme, the goal of it is the glorification of God himself.

More recent commentaries and sermons tend to focus on what God has done for us, as if our salvation culminates in our personal redemption. That we are being saved is no small matter; it is the most wondrous story imaginable, but the story doesn’t end there. It ends in the glory of God. In other words, salvation is God-centered, not Man-centered. It involves us from beginning to end, but God himself is always the Protagonist, the One around whom the story flows. Practically speaking, when my experience of God transcends the God of my experience, everything is upside-down. And when I dwell upon my ‘feelings’ of salvation, I am focusing on me, not God, and that is always a recipe for disaster.

God does everything for the praise of his glory. This is seen even in the Old Testament. Psalm 50:23 reads, “Whoever offers praise glorifies Me; And to him who orders his conduct aright I will show the salvation of God.” Praise and salvation are inextricably linked, so much so that it is difficult to discern which comes first. When I was a teenager, my pastor was Charles Ellis. Pastor Ellis had a little sign on his desk that puts it succinctly: “Praise God Anyway.” In practical terms, praising God draws the attention from myself and focuses it on God, where it belongs. According to this psalm, praising God takes us to the heart of the matter: We were brought into this world to do this often very difficult task: praising God. If Paul is to be believed, this is the very heartbeat of Creation, that for which we were predestined: praising the glory of God himself. Everything else falls short; this alone is why we were created and saved. 

Clouds

July 19, 2020

We watched them rolling in across the waves, gathering strength as they approached. Radar revealed a massive storm making its way from Canada, across Lake Erie to its eastern shore where it struck with a fury (BTW, my erratic typing pointed out that fury and furry are only one letter and a world of meaning apart). The cloud bank formed a clearly visible line that was fascinating to see. We hurriedly gathered all our picnic gear, literally throwing things in the back of the truck and trunks of cars, barely able to hold onto the tables as the wind caught them like sails. We were barely a mile down the road when the heavens opened in a torrent the likes of which I haven’t experienced in years. Half an hour later, we got soaked literally to the skin bringing everything inside so we could finish celebrating our July birthdays. It was certainly the most memorable beach birthday yet!

Gazing at those clouds got me to thinking about Nate’s prayer this morning. He spoke of that “great cloud of witnesses” mentioned in Hebrews 12:1—those faithful ones who have died and gone to their reward. Far from sitting on a cloud strumming harps, these are like the spectators at a foot race, standing in the bleachers, cheering us on. They are no ordinary spectators like someone once described football stands as “twenty-two thousand desperately in need of exercise cheering twenty-two desperately in need of rest.” No indeed—these are those who themselves ran the same race and are encouraging us with their example of faithfulness, cheering us on to our finish line.

It is peculiar that the writer describes these faithful ones as a “great cloud.” The Biblical writers had quite an affinity for clouds. The Great Flood of Noah—God’s judgment on the world—came from clouds that poured forth for forty days and nights. God appeared to Moses in the cloud on Sinai, and led the children of Israel in a cloud by day. Upon the dedication of both the Tabernacle and the Temple, a cloud descended upon them, so glorious that no one could enter.  When Jesus was transfigured, he was engulfed in a cloud, and when he ascended, it was in a cloud. 

Shekinah was the term they gave these clouds; the awesome brightly shining presence of God himself. Whether shining so brightly as to force people to turn away in acknowledgment of their sin, or thundering in the majestic power of the storm, clouds signified the glory of God himself. The amazing part of this text is that the cloud of God’s glory either consists of, or is filled with his faithful ones. Here in this life, because of our sin, the glory of God is only partially revealed in us; when our sin is finally and completely eradicated, God’s glory will shine unhindered and complete in and through us. Years ago, I learned that in redemption Jesus saves us from the penalty of sin; in sanctification Jesus saves us from the power of sin; in glorification Jesus saves us from the presence of sin. What a glorious day that will be! 

In the meantime, we are called to holiness so as much as is possible, people can see the majestic glory of God in us. That great cloud of witnesses is on their feet! “Don’t give up! You can do it! God’s grace is sufficient for you! You stumbled, so get up again and start running! Yes, it’s painful; yes, it is lonely at times; yes, there are obstacles and naysayers, but we are telling you, it’s worth it! So don’t quit! Run your race as Jesus did, enduring the cross and despising the shame, until you too, can sit in victory with all the saints of history, gathered around the throne of God in worship and adoration.”

Lists

July 18, 2020

Sometimes you just can’t get it all done. Today’s list was apparently longer than the day itself. The crew was here overnight, so this morning Linda and I were engaged with fixing breakfast and talking with the grandkids one at a time as they woke up. These Saturday mornings stretch from around 7:00 am till at least 11:00, with a little extra time thrown in to finish tidying things up. Neither of us had had time to read our Bibles, so that was next on tap, followed by occasional walks down to the swimming hole to meet whoever is camping out on our lawn. Today, there were about two dozen people rotating in and out. 

Linda was busy most of the afternoon getting things together for our July birthday celebrations at the lake, while I fixed a fan and made coleslaw. A graduation party, practicing my bass, then taking it to church tonight so I could load tables in the truck for tomorrow, writing tonight’s meditation, and I just don’t have the energy at 8:45 for the day’s workout, which is OK, because I am still sore from yesterday’s.

To-do lists are one way we manage to accomplish things. If I have a day with nothing planned, nothing gets done. When evening comes, I look back and wonder, “What have I accomplished today?” I don’t like feeling that I’ve frittered away the day. Life is a precious gift, and wasting it is a sacrilege. My problem is, many of the things I want or need to get done take me longer than I like, so I end up with stuff hanging off the tail end of my to-do list. 

It’s taken me a long time, but I’m learning to accept “carry-overs” from today to tomorrow. When we start feeling guilty about the things we didn’t get done, we are dangerously close to what St. Paul called “works righteousness.” The salvation of the world is not my responsibility; it’s God’s. I have a role to play in it, but the outcome doesn’t rest upon whether or not I get everything on today’s list done. 

Jesus said it well. “Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothes the grass, which today is in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith?” —Luke 12:27-28 NKJV

No, I didn’t get everything done. Someone younger or more talented than I could probably have crossed off everything on my list, but tomorrow is another day, another gift from God for which to give thanks and bow before the Lord Jesus Christ who alone in this world finished everything on his list for our salvation.

Words

July 17, 2020

Words are powerful things. A generation ago, Adolf Hitler mesmerized thousands with his racist, violent oratory. Across the Channel, Winston Churchill almost singlehandedly kept Britain in the fight with stirring speeches promising nothing but “blood, toil, tears, and sweat.” Ninety miles from Key West, Fidel Castro held crowds spellbound for hours at a time with his well-chosen words, and the nation he conquered is today in shambles as a result.

People are encouraged or browbeaten by words. Words can cause the soul to sing...or sink. They are so important that the Gospel of John begins with, “In the beginning was the Word,” the revelation of God’s very being, made flesh for our sake.

Psalm 17:3 is a promise: “I have purposed that my mouth shall not transgress.” Such determination is required because we so easily slip and sink into language that negates, demeans, or discourages others. The apostle James reminds us that “the tongue is a fire...no man can tame it” (James 3:6 & 8). We seem to be powerless to control our mouths; only God can do it. Our words can be so insidious that James warns us about wanting to instruct others. Instruction is a great responsibility, and there are many who do not deserve and shouldn’t be in that role. 

So many voices on social media, all claiming to be true, most (even the “experts”) not knowing nearly as much as they claim. Someone once said the real problem is that we know so much that isn’t true. It is tempting to add our voices to the cacophanous chorus, but most of us don’t know as much as we think we do about all that’s going on in the world. Jesus said we would be judged by every idle word we utter (Matthew 12:36), and St. Paul reminded us that we should only speak that which builds people up. Ill-spoken, ill-timed, and ill-informed words can be catastrophic. Researchers in England predicted millions of deaths from COVID-19. Politicians believed them, and the entire country shut down. Turns out that these so-called experts had a history of wildly inflating their projections of catastrophe. Their words were powerful...and destructive.

Sometimes silence is the best word spoken, as Jesus proved standing before Pilate. We don’t have to comment on everything going on around us or within us. I need to bless and encourage people; God forgive me for failing to do so. Lord, guard my lips that I may speak only that blessing you place within my heart, and not the cursing that comes from my own sinfulness.

Slowing Down

July 15, 2020

Sometimes retirement just feels odd. After attending our pastors’ prayer group this morning, I stopped at the credit union, came home, and after spending some time reading my Bible, helped my son mud two sections of wall in his kitchen. It didn’t take long. I was going to check on my bees, but it was too hot, so instead, I pulled a few weeds from the edge of the lawn, watched a short video about bees, and before I knew it, it was suppertime. After supper, Linda and I sat on the patio drinking coffee and talking, after which I assembled a beehive super. All in all, I can’t say as I accomplished much, which is why retirement feels so odd. For more than forty years, I was used to filing my days with activity, getting things done. Sermon preparation, hospital and nursing home visitation, home calls, meetings, counseling, were just some of the things that filled my days. Now it’s a few short tasks, and before I know it, the day is done.

I am grateful for the slower pace, even though I feel guilty for being so lazy. Perhaps the “new reality” everyone is talking about means more time for reflection and prayer. If so, I say, bring it on!

Roadworthy blessings

July 14, 2020

When the entire day from 9:00 am till 5:30 pm has been spent on the road, there is much for which to give thanks. I was traveling with people I love—my wife and two granddaughters. Conversation was pleasant and the times of silence were given to prayer. The weather was perfect for driving. We neither encountered nor were involved in any accidents, there was only one minor stretch of delay due to construction, and the GPS on the phone worked flawlessly. Our children who were traveling the same route on different schedules also rode in safety. Upon arriving at home, our dog was anxious to see us, the cat was happy to be allowed inside, my bees are doing fine, and our home hadn’t been ransacked while we were gone. We had money left over from our anticipated expenses, and enjoyed a quiet evening together unwinding from the long drive.

Grace preceded us, surrounded us, and follows us as we sleep tonight. We have much for which to give thanks, and do so with glad hearts and tired bodies.

Unity’s Blessing

July 13, 2020

Our 50th anniversary gift is almost history. Our kids kept asking us what we wanted for this milestone in our lives, but there isn’t anything we need, and frankly, we’re quite limited these days regarding any place we’d like to see. The grandkids are growing up; Alex, our first grandchild, graduated from college and has a job lined up. The next in line are lifeguarding all summer long, and we know this may be the last of our full family vacations. 

This morning’s Scripture included Psalm 133:

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is 

For brethren to dwell together in unity! 

It is like the precious oil upon the head, 

Running down on the beard, 

The beard of Aaron, 

Running down on the edge of his garments. 

It is like the dew of Hermon, 

Descending upon the mountains of Zion; 

For there the LORD commanded the blessing— 

Life forevermore.”

Linda quoted this to me just a few minutes ago, commenting, “In the margin, I had written, “This is our family.”” We visited the Ark Encounter, did our annual photo shoot, which in the Bailey family is a major undertaking, had a meal together, after which the cousins played card games late into the evening. All told, we spent fourteen hours together, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. We are so very blessed, and living together in unity truly is good and pleasant...and precious. Our hearts are full, and we are so very grateful to our God for the family he has given us.

Lazarus

July 12, 2020

Last week while visiting my brother, he gave me a birthday card featuring a hillbilly saying, “I didn’t know what to git ya fear yer birthday, and then it hit me.” Opened up, he’s holding a dead possum and saying, “Actually, I hit it. Happy birthday and pass the gravy!” He added a note: “Just thinking of you and Annual Conference at Houghton in a room with no ventilation. Subject: Lazarus.” Lazarus...it took me back quite a few years, perhaps twenty or more. It wasn’t Annual Conference, but the School of Mission sponsored by the United Methodist Women...mostly older women, I might add. Back then, I hadn’t myself yet attained the status of old, which explains a lot about how things got out of hand.

I had been asked to teach the Bible sessions, lessons on the Gospel of John. I didn’t want to just lecture, so I put the old imagination into gear to come up with some of what I hoped would be memorable object lessons. These many years later, no one remembers me flinging flour around, talking about Jesus, the Bread of Life, or of the liberal application of water to illustrate Jesus’ statement saying, “I am the Living Water.” No. All they remember is Lazarus.

The point of the whole lesson was that though Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, he came out from the tomb still wrapped in the putrefying, stinky grave clothes, and needed to be unwrapped. In the same way, it’s not enough for Jesus to raise us from spiritual death and give us new life; those smelly old clothe-habits from our former life need to be unwrapped and discarded, or we, even though having been given new life, will stink. 

It was a hot, dry, summer, and the ride to Houghton took two hours. I could have arrived sooner, but I had to make a few stops along the way. In the back of the truck I had a black plastic garbage bag and a shovel. Every time I saw a roadkill on the berm or in a ditch, I stopped, shoveled it into my bag, and drove on. By the time I had reached my destination, I had an assortment of woodchuck, possum, squirrel, and something unidentifiable. Upon arrival, I tied the bag up and tossed it on top of the cab of my truck where it cooked in the sun for about four days.

On this particular lesson day, I carefully placed my garbage bag in a box, donned a cape, and clutching a magic wand, strode into the room, where I waxed eloquent about the resurrection, but also of our need to rid ourselves of the old grave clothes if we don’t want to end up turning people away from the Gospel. Youth camp was meeting on the upper campus, and I had invited them to join us for this lesson. 

Having told my audience that I had Lazarus entombed in my box, I jumped up onto the table, waved my magic wand, shouted “Abracadabra!” and proceeded to open the box and unwrap the garbage bag. Peering inside, I exclaimed, “Something is wrong!” I tried a second time, then a third, before inviting the youth to come and see what had gone wrong. They came forward, single file, looked inside (which also gave them a hefty whiff of roadkill perfume), and ran off, gagging. Years later, I still had people approaching me at Annual Conference, with these words: “I remember Lazarus!” I bet they did. Strangely enough, they also remembered the grave clothes. Lesson learned.

Small Matters

July 11, 2020

In my daily reading of Scripture, I have a system that takes me through the Psalms in a month. On the first day of the month, I read Psalm 1, 31, 61, 91, 121. Day 2 gives me Psalm 2, 32, 62, 92, 122, and so on through the month. The eleventh day always takes me to my favorite Psalm, 131. It is short, so I’ll include it in it’s entirety.

“LORD, my heart is not haughty, 

Nor my eyes lofty. 

Neither do I concern myself with great matters, 

Nor with things too profound for me. 

Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul, 

Like a weaned child with his mother; 

Like a weaned child is my soul within me. 

O Israel, hope in the LORD From this time forth and forever.”

—Psalm 131:1-3 NKJV

That this Psalm pops up every year on my birthday is to me, an added blessing. 

Leadership gurus often speak of having great visions, the bigger, the better. No matter the field, great leaders think expansively; bigger churches, bigger companies, more influence and power.  I’m all for reaching more people, doing greater things, but I also know my limits. Years ago when Park church was growing exponentially, I was driving through Lockport and passed a small UM church on a street corner in an urban neighborhood, surrounded by houses. I remember praying; I told God how good things were going in the little rural village of Sinclairville, and asked what I could have accomplished in a place where thousands of people lived. God doesn’t speak to me in audible voices, but I know it’s him when I have a thought foreign to my way of thinking. “What could I have accomplished there?” I asked. God’s answer was crystal clear and to the point.

“Jim, I couldn’t do anything more with you there than I’m doing with you where you are. I’m doing the best I can with what I have to work with.” I’m grateful he told me that. I’ve lived most of my life in this little village, going deep in relationships. With all the big issues facing us today, sometimes it feels like I’m shirking my duty focusing on the few people God has placed in my path, but this is my birthday psalm, God’s word to me. I’ll leave it to others to climb the ladders of success, to build larger ministries, to involve themselves in the great issues of the day. I don’t concern myself with great matters, with things too great for me.” I’m not hiding my head in the sand; great matters haven’t  been my calling, and on this, my 71st birthday, I am content; my soul is calm and quiet.

A New Song

July 10, 2020

I don’t sing enough. Psalm 40:3 says, 

“He has put a new song in my mouth

Praise to our God.”

Someone once said that Christianity is the only religion that sets people to singing. I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but from the beginning, singing has been central to the Gospel. The world has plenty of songs, but they lack the fresh newness of praise and worship. We sing a lot in worship, but when by myself, I tend to like quiet solitude. If I have music playing, it’s usually light classical, but I rarely have the truck radio on. In the quiet, I can think and pray. But I suspect I need to sing more...new songs of praise. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve written any songs; maybe it’s time.

There is a reason for our singing. First of all, God has given us a new song. It isn’t right to have been given a precious gift and neglect it. Secondly, our songs draw others to God:

“Many will see it and fear, 

and will trust in the LORD.”

When I was growing up, Billy Graham was in his prime, televising his evangelistic crusades from cities all around the world. Music was always a bit part of his meetings. Choirs comprised of hundreds of local Christians, a variety of special artists, and of course, the ever-present Ted Husted on the organ, and George Beverly Shea’s baritone singing “I’d Rather Have Jesus,” or some other Gospel classic. The meetings always closed with an invitation to come down before the platform, accompanied by the strains of “Just As I Am, Without One Plea.” This singular song witnessed countless thousands trusting in the Lord.

There is a third reason for singing. Psalm 100 reads, “Come before His presence with singing.” If for any reason we find it hard to come into the presence of God, singing can be the key that unlocks the door. Instead of focusing on our personal needs and desires, singing praises directs our minds and hearts to God himself, ushering us into his presence as little else can. 

I’m going to incorporate song into my prayer life. Every time I open my Bible, every time I open my mouth in prayer, I want to come into the presence of the Lord. I don’t want to miss out even a single time. So I think I’ll sing!

Words

July 9, 2020

My keyboard died last night as I was writing, which is probably a good thing. Sometimes it is best to keep one’s counsel. I think it was Abraham Lincoln who quipped, “Better to be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.” We live in a crazy age, and I’m not talking COVID or the rioting or tearing down of statues. The craziness predated all that. It’s the craziness of thinking that every thought or impulse we have should be posted on social media. 

How did our lives get so vain and vacuous that we think everyone in the world should know what we had for dinner, or that people would even be interested in the plate of food before us? When did “selfie” become a word, much less an activity? How is it we went from taking pictures of the grandeur of the world around us to the glorification of ourselves?

Having had a night’s rest, I reviewed what I had started, and decided that putting forth my thoughts would have not beneficial effect on anyone. They were words I needed to write, words that help me sort out my beliefs and feelings about life, but they will remain my words alone. Restraint is in order here, as it is in much of our public conversation. Sadly, we have come to believe that every feeling or thought that flits across our consciousness should actually be spoken—and as loudly and angrily as possible. We are not better for it.

The failure of my keyboard came to my rescue last night, and the Word of God comes this morning. Not any specific text, but the body of it that has been the foundation of my life for nearly sixty years. Over and over, I’ve read and soaked up its wisdom, and that wisdom speaks often to how we use words. The consensus is, “Don’t tear down; build up.” Sometimes that’s best done in silence.

Deep Love

July 8, 2020

It’s a Cuba kind of day. Even in the early morning, the heat was palpable; by noon, it was almost unbearable. The only reasonable time to get things done is in the evening, which is why so many of our worship meetings didn’t start till 8:00 pm. It’s 7:00 now, and finally getting tolerable. I suppose I should feel somewhat guilty to have accomplished so little today. After fixing breakfast for my mother (her favorite—“milk egg”), washing up the dishes, and helping my brother load some lumber onto his trailer, I didn’t do much. 

Linda did far more, watering and weeding mom’s flower garden, and giving her gentle care and conversation. Now, she’s watering gardens here at home. Last night at bedtime, she wanted me to check on mom after hearing an odd sound on the baby monitor that connects her room to the one we were in. I told her it was nothing, and immediately knew my nonchalance bothered her. I checked on mom, who was sleeping peacefully, but Linda was still upset.

This morning we talked, and I understood something that had completely eluded me before. Linda hates to travel. Anything more than a trip into town for groceries is an ordeal for her. Nonetheless, almost every other week, she gets in the car and we drive for nearly two hours to spend a day with mom. She does it because she loves my mother. What I didn’t know was how much these trips took out of her. She told me this morning, “Every time I come, it makes me sad because it makes me think of my mom. I miss her so much.” Not only does she endure the drive, but also the reopening of a heart wound that’s been there just beneath the surface for seven years. I don’t deserve a wife who loves like that, but then again, there’s no way I’d settle for what I deserve. I do however, give thanks again for the woman God placed into my care more than fifty years ago.

Light

July 7, 2020

Psalm 36:9–“In your light we see light.” People look for enlightenment in many a dark place. The drug culture today is mostly a way of tuning out, getting high as a way of escaping the pain of life. Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, psychedelic drugs were touted as a path to enlightenment. Of course, it wasn’t, but plenty of people stared into the darkness in search of a light that wasn’t there. 

Today, we still grope in the darkness for enlightenment. An endless stream of politicians and academics cite equally endless studies to support their conflicting opinions, all in an effort to convince, convert, and control the less enlightened. I shouldn’t leave out the religious hucksters, who are quick to tout their personal revelations and messages from God. 

No one can find light looking into the darkness, yet the darkness is where so many of us spend our time and focus our attention. Darkness must be engaged, but if we attempt to do so without first making sure we have light within us, at best, we get lost, and at worst, we become part of the darkness itself. Jesus himself said it: “If the light within you is darkness, how great that darkness is!” (Matthew 6:23). MLK understood as many today do not, that meeting violence with violence only serves to deepen the violence as it engulfs the soul of the perpetrator. Wars may be necessary to avoid or avert a greater evil, but they never seem to solve anything. WWII was a direct result of the unresolved issues stemming from WWI.

Too many of us live in a state of perpetual grievance which needs only a small spark to burst into flame. We’ve seen the tragic consequences of this grievance on the news every night, and even in Christian circles, conversations easily turn to whatever it is we are unhappy or upset about. There is much in this world about which to be aggrieved, but it is deadly to allow grievance inhabit our souls. The only remedy for darkness is to look to the light...Look to the light! Stare at, gaze upon, focus on the Light! Only if the light of Christ shines within us are we able ourselves to be lights in the darkness. The light of Christ only shines in us if we are looking towards the greater light of Christ. We are at best mirrors, and can only reflect that to which we are pointed. I choose...I MUST choose daily to look to the Light, for it is only “in your light that we see light.” I am thankful tonight that “The light (Jesus Christ) shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” —John 1:5 

Don’t Quit!

July 6, 2020

“Pray without ceasing,” Paul commands the Christians in Thessalonika. I’ve read that sentence countless times and wondered how that would even be possible. There’s no way anyone can pray all the time, every moment of every waking hour. Everyone has work to do, business to attend to, things that must be done. Our minds inevitably must dwell on countless matters that require complete attention, rendering ceaseless prayer impossible.

I recently heard a sermon by a well-known pastor teaching on this very statement. He uses the Lord’s Prayer as a model for continual prayer throughout the day. Following the medieval practice of the Hours, he uses a different phrase from the Lord’s Prayer as a launchpad for hourly moments of prayer. It was a good sermon, with many helpful tips, but I still came away feeling like something was missing. Tonight I found it.

At the tail end off our men’s prayer group this evening, brother Dan suggested that what Paul meant was, “Don’t give up.” When we’ve repeatedly prayed for something and nothing seems to happen, after awhile, we quit. “Pray without ceasing;” don’t stop short of the goal. If we cease our prayers before the answer comes, that cessation could very well be the reason our prayer fails. Pray without ceasing! Don’t let discouragement set in. You aren’t devoting every waking hour to prayer, but neither are you quitting before the answer comes. THAT makes great sense to me, and tonight I am thankful for Dan for his statement. It was like groping in the dark and suddenly finding the light switch. Don’t quit! That’s a good word for today.

Back to Bees

July 5, 2020

“I went out like a light! I was flat on my back; I could see the sky and clouds, but couldn’t move or speak. After awhile, I started coming around, got up, and finished the work.” Roy had kept bees since he was a boy; he was in his seventies when he related the story to me. A bee had stung him right between the eyes, but it was a later incident that ended his beekeeping hobby for good. It happened again, but this time his wife happened to be there. She made him hang up his veil for good.

It was more than thirty years ago that Roy got me started in beekeeping. The little critters fascinated me, and when I said as much, Roy almost immediately gave me a colony to get started. I caught swarms, and harvested honey by the gallon from a measly two hives. Then one April when I checked on them, both colonies had died. A mere three weeks earlier, they were strong and active. I never did learn what killed them, but it was the beginning of what is now called Colony Collapse Disorder. Life got, as they say, busy as a bee, and the hive bodies remained stacked in the loft of our barn and then behind our garage for nearly twenty years. The fascination however, didn’t die with those colonies, and I recently decided it was time to begin again. 

Friday, a local beekeeper friend brought over two nucs (short for nucleus) consisting of five frames of bees, pollen, larvae, and honey. This evening, I transferred them to full-sized hives, which means I am back in business. It feels good, except of course, for where I got stung. Friday, I got nailed in my left hand, and tonight, one got under my veil and stung me in the Adam’s Apple. It itches more than it hurts, and by tomorrow morning I’m guessing I’ll look like I have a goiter. 

Keep bees, and you’re going to get stung. Speak boldly about Jesus Christ, and you’re likely to get stung again. We live in a culture that values safety and security above almost everything else, which to me, is unhealthy, a dangerous place to be. I am not by nature a risk-taker, but I have learned that nothing worth doing can be accomplished without risk. It took me awhile to understand this; seminary training and denominational ethos valued pastors who took good care of the people and the system. Entrepreneurs were discouraged. I was fortunate enough to have at one time a District Superintendent (read “boss”) who encouraged out of the box thinking, which kept me from going nuts or quitting. My ministry model came to be based on Jesus’ story of the Talents in Matthew 25. The only servant condemned by Jesus was the one who played it safe. I decided then and there, I would not be that kind of servant. 

So, occasionally I got stung. It hurt at the time, but I got over it, and eventually was able to enjoy the sweet harvest of handing over a healthy congregation to my successor. He would make a good beekeeper; he’s not afraid to take even more of a risk than I would, brushing off the stings like a pro. As for me, I’m thankful to let him keep the congregational hive humming; I’m content with my little buzzing friends. Thank you, Roy.

Freedom

July 4, 2020

Many a year we spent the Fourth of July on vacation in Canada. McMillan’s cottages were host to mostly Americans who came for the quiet, the relaxation, the fishing, and the excellent food and fellowship. Some of those who came had been coming yearly for decades, and each year it was like a family reunion with people from all across the eastern part of the US. 

July 1 is Canada Day, and at suppertime the kitchen staff and servers would file into the dining room, hand out lyrics, and lead us in the singing of “O Canada!” At dusk, we would drive to nearby Killaloe, a tiny village about ten miles west of the campground, where we gathered at the local schoolyard to watch fireworks. I wonder if they had them this year. The border is closed to tourists, so we didn’t get to go.

On the Fourth, the staff again paraded into the dining hall to lead us in the “Star Spangled Benner.” The only fireworks were whatever Americans had brought with them, but there never seemed to be a shortage. I miss all that tonight. Locally, most of the firework displays have been cancelled; sad sign of the times where COVID has isolated us, and race divided us. I never imagined I would see the day when there would be calls from a major political party advocating the destruction of the Mount Rushmore monument, but it’s been happening. 

Tomorrow, I’m preaching again, from Galatians 5:1—“For freedom, Christ has set us free.” Freedom is a fragile thing, and must be carried in the heart before it can be delivered to a nation. If we allow it to grow dim within us, it is not long before it weakens in society. Jesus Christ set us free from sin so we would have the blessing of living free of guilt and shame, but if  we fail to shake off the shackles he has unlocked, we become easy prey for anyone who would enslave us again. I am grateful tonight that Christ set me free, and keep daily watch lest I slip back into bondage. I am sad that there is so little celebration tonight, but am thankful to be among those whom Christ has set free.