Everyday Hero #16

September 30, 2022

The only time I ever remember him fudging the truth a little was when he spoke about racing. My father-in-law Lloyd Moore was one of the charter members of NASCAR. He grew up on a farm, but hated farming, instead turning his attention to all things mechanical, which led to his racing jalopies in and around Chautauqua County, NY. Which in turn, led to his driving for Julian Beusink, one of the first to put together a team of drivers. Lloyd raced NASCAR from 1948-1956, against such early pioneers as Lee Petty, Curtis Turner, Tim and Fonty Flock, and others. This is where his fudging the truth comes in.

I asked him one day why he gave it up. “They were getting faster, and I was getting slower,” he replied, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. The fact of the matter is, around that time, his mother’s prayers were answered when he walked the aisle and prayed to receive Jesus Christ in the little Wheeler Hill church just over the hill from his home. His conversion opened his eyes to the fact that his wife and daughters needed him more than the racing circuit. He gave it all up for Jesus and for them.

I could write volumes of the stories he told, of how he taught me everything I know about cars, and a lot about life, and what is really important in the end. His beloved 1948 8N tractor sits in my son’s barn, but his daughter resides in my heart. 

When Lloyd died, my sons gave the eulogy. “We are followers of Jesus Christ today because he made the decision to give up racing for his family,” Nate said. It’s true; that decision made nearly seventy years ago continues to bear fruit today. Much goes into making an Everyday Hero, but for Lloyd Moore, it all began when he turned his back on a sport he loved and turned his face towards Jesus Christ.

 

Everyday Hero #15

 September 29, 2022

I was never quite sure how to address her or speak of her. To her husband, she was Ginner; to most of the rest of us, she was Gram. It’s hard to speak of her because there is so much that could be said. She was a combination of great faith and faithfulness, tenderness, generosity, compassion, and toughness that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen in anyone else.

When Linda went away to college, like many freshmen, she was homesick. She would call home and Ginner would pick up the phone (apparently that was one of her jobs, because Lloyd never did). When Linda would ask to speak to her father, Ginner refused, knowing he would have driven out there and brought her home. Ginner knew how important it was for Linda to stay in school, and wasn’t about to let her daughter’s homesickness or her husband’s soft spot to interfere with her future.

Lloyd wasn’t an easy man to live with. In earlier years, she kept the home while he drove up and down the eastern seaboard driving race cars at tracks from Ohio to Florida. When he came to Christ, he loved Jesus, but was still opinionated and determined. He never mistreated Ginner, but there was no question as to who ruled the roost. Ginner catered to him no matter how difficult it got. The aunts (Lloyd’s sisters) often weren’t very kind to her, but she was the one who took care of them in sickness and their old age. She never returned harshness for that which she received, and simply gave of herself to help others, caring for elderly people in the community as if they were her own parents.

She was a woman of prayer, often praying late into the night, and not a few times, she prayed through tears for the many people she loved. She taught Sunday School, gave generously to missions, and visited people all over the community in the name of Jesus. I’ve not met a more giving, generous, faithful woman. My only fault with her is that I couldn’t tell any of the common mother-in-law jokes; they just didn’t fit her.

We said goodbye to her on a New Year’s Eve as she lay in bed at Linda’s sister’s home. She had been sleeping fitfully, so giving her daughters a break, I sat reading Proverbs 31 to her. Her breathing changed, so I summoned Linda and her sisters and brother-in-laws. We lifted her up  with prayers and blessings as she entered the presence of the Savior she had served for so many years. For years, Linda has prayed to become more like her mother. I am blessed to be able to say she learned her lessons well, which makes Ginner a very special Everyday Hero to me.

Everyday Hero #14

 September 27, 2022

Sucking in his ample belly and squaring his shoulders, he stood toe to toe, his nearly 300 lbs towering over me as he quietly warned, “You don’t try to convert me, and I won’t try to convert you.” His name was Dick Travis, and was my new boss. 

Linda was pregnant with our soon-to-be firstborn, but was having complications. She was a caseworker for Allegany County, and on the road four days each week visiting clients. Her doctor told her, “It’s either your job or the baby,” so she turned in her resignation. Just before doing so, on her way to work, she stopped in to the Minute Man gas station to fill up. As Dick waited on her (they did that back then), he noticed she was crying and asked what was wrong. She spilled everything, including the fact that my job as pastor didn’t pay enough to live on, and we didn’t know what we were going to do.

“Have Jim come in,” Dick said, and when I did, he tore up an entire 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper with dozens of names of young men waiting for part time work, and gave me 40 hours per week.

Dick was a hard-living, hard-cussing, hard-drinking, woman-chasing man with a big heart for the underdog. In spite of all that, he hired me, and when Nathan was born in the middle of the Flood of ‘72, he found a way from his home in Friendship, snaking through back roads, dodging boulders dislodged by the torrential rain, to our home in Alma, some 22 miles away. He insisted we take his big Buick Wildcat to the hospital in Olean because it was heavier and more likely to endure a washout. We made it, with roads closing right behind us, and finally having to park it while they took Linda across flooded roads in Portville in an Army Duck. I made my way later, and spent the next few days sandbagging by day and sleeping on a two-person love seat in the hospital at night.

Dick would help out anyone in need, and stood by us when we had nowhere else to turn. I buried his newborn daughter, and worked for him for a couple years before getting a caseworker’s job at the county. After some time there, I went to Chicago for seminary. Four years later, his wife Mabel somehow managed to get my phone number. “Dick is in Olean General, dying of cancer. Will you come?” I did, and in those final days of his earthly life, I finally got the best of him. He never converted me, but I had the privilege of praying with him to receive Christ before he died. All the years I worked for him, he didn’t know Jesus and didn’t want to hear me speak about him, but Dick was, and still remains, one of my Everyday Heroes. And maybe…just maybe, I’ll be one of his.

Every Idle Word

 September 27, 2022

Yesterday I wrote about Mrs. Cantrall’s prayer that God take away anything that came between her and the Lord. I’ve been thinking about that prayer and her conviction that God answered it when her beloved husband died. I remember, not a prayer, but a statement I made nearly twenty years ago that had a similar effect.

I don’t remember what I was preaching about this particular Sunday, but I’ll never forget what I said, nor what happened subsequently. My statement was this: “I would be able to survive if the church went belly-up, but I don’t know how I would survive if I lost my family.” 

That may sound pretty innocuous, but God took me up on it in 2004 when Park church nearly folded when an influential member got angry with me and orchestrated an exodus that threatened to break us. It was the worst pastoral experience of my life, and were it not for faithful people who stood by me, I wouldn’t have made it. My prayer partner at the time told me to my face he was trying to get me drummed not only out of Park church, but out of ministry altogether. I was brought up on charges before the bishop, who ultimately made (I believe) the correct decision, but who handled the situation abysmally. 

My prayer through it all was that God would allow me to hand over a healthy congregation when I retired. It took ten years, but God did just that, for which I am very grateful. My point in telling this very abbreviated story is simple: Jesus warned us to monitor every word that comes out of our mouth, and that we shall at Judgment Day give account for “every idle word” we speak. God isn’t afraid to test us to see if we really mean what we say, and when God tests us, we better buckle up, because we’re in for a ride! He is faithful to us, but also to himself. I learned the hard way that I not only need to be careful what I pray for, but also with what I say. 

Everyday Hero #13

 September 25, 2022

“Be careful what you pray for, kids; you might just get it.” She stood before us, a diminuative little woman with a very serious look on her face. The story she then told us mirrored her countenance. 

She had been praying, and in her prayers said, “Lord that if there is anything coming between you and me, please take it away.” That sounds like a pretty ordinary prayer from someone serious about their relationship with God, but she continued addressing us kids. “I loved my husband so very much, and God took me seriously. Shortly after praying that prayer, my husband had a heart attack, and died.” She paused. “Be careful what you pray for; God might just give you what you ask.”

Over the years, I’ve told this story to many people, and the reaction is usually one of disbelief or outrage: “God wouldn’t do that!” the assure me. People are free to believe what they want, but Mrs. Cantrall, mother of my best friend at the time, was unmoved by such arguments. She knew what she prayed, and urged us to pray carefully.

I’ve had times I prayed for something and God answered in ways I had not expected. I’ve prayed that God would keep me faithful, and he gave me trials in which I had a choice to follow or abandon him. I’ve prayed for wisdom, and God gave me confusing and contradicting situations. I’ve prayed for God to make me more compassionate, and he gave me difficult people to learn to love.

I’ve never been bold enough to pray Mrs. Cantrall’s prayer, but I’ve also never forgotten it. I don’t want anything to come between God and myself, but instead of asking God to remove whatever might be there, I’ve asked him to reveal it to me so I could make the choice myself. Mrs. Cantrall has long since gone to meet her Lord, and her husband also, who in eternity will no more have the potential of standing between her and Jesus. Mrs. Cantrall, your courage and boldness in prayer make you my Everyday Hero #13.

Everyday Hero #12

 September 24, 2022

With the exception of my wife and mother, I’ve noticed that all my Everyday Heroes are men. I didn’t plan it that way; it’s just how things turned out. I’ve been influenced more by men than women. I would expect that if a woman were listing her everyday heroes, most of them would be female.

One non-family member who stands out in my mind is Helen Beach. She wasn’t a leader in the church (back then, that was men-only), but she was a Sunday School teacher…MY Sunday School teacher. Westside Baptist in the early 60’s was a fairly recent church plant in Greece, on the northwest side of Rochester. There were few frills to be had, and our class was no exception. We sat in old theater chairs strung together, folding seats and all. The seats and the kids in them were crammed into a small room in the basement of the church, off the fellowship hall. 

Mrs. Beach stood in front, chalkboard to her back, lesson book and Bible in hand, and did her best to keep the attention of 12 year-old boys and girls, while said boys jockeyed for the back row, so it would be easier to fool around without getting caught. Remember that word “easier.” Catching us might be more of a challenge as she had to look through three rows of kids before getting to us, but it apparently wasn’t impossible, as I learned one Sunday morning.

Did I mention that if nothing else, Mrs. Beach was made of tough stock? I don’t think an entire room full of 12 year old boys would have intimidated her, every as diminutive as she was. So it happened that one Sunday morning as she concluded the  lesson to which I hadn’t been paying attention, I heard my name being called. “Jim Bailey, will you pray for us as we leave the room?”

I was in instant shock. I knew that the concluding prayer was expected to wrap up the main theme of the lesson; and I hadn’t the foggiest idea what that theme might have been. Mrs. Beach was soft-spoken, but relentless; she wasn’t about to let me off the hook. I mumbled and stumbled through the prayer and said “Amen.” 

“In Jesus’ name, Amen!” she thundered. Well, knowing her, I don’t imagine her words were very thunderous, but they shook me to the core. She thanked me, dismissed the class, and never mentioned the matter again. She didn’t need to. I had learned my lesson, and never fooled around in her class again. For her courage and determination to love and teach us 12 year old kids more than a lesson, but also about respect, I nominate Mrs. Helen Beach for my 12th Everyday Hero.

Everyday Heroes # 10 & 11

 September 23, 2022

Looking at Fred Thomas and Sterling Houston, you might think you were looking at Mutt and Jeff. Fred was short and stocky, Sterling stood about 6’6”. They were co-leaders of the Rochester Youth for Christ back in the early 60’s. Every Saturday night they stood on a stage at a downtown theater, leading rallies designed to help teens bring other teens to Christ. I can still see them standing and speaking passionately about Jesus. Fred was a ball of energy, while Sterling was more calm and measured.

One summer, they took about fifteen of us boys to a private camp on the Raquette River in the  Adirondack Mountains for a week of leadership training so we could start Youth for Christ clubs in our high schools. I still have their handbook with the sample dialogue for leading someone to Christ. I was amazed that they believed in me, actually chose me for this training. They got me started leading small groups, gave me confidence that I could actually make a difference. 

I lost track of them when I went to college, but in 1983, when I attended Billy Graham’s School of Evangelism in Oklahoma City, who should I see leading one of the seminars but Sterling Houston! He had moved from Youth for Christ to the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association. More than fifteen years later, he remembered me! Fred Thomas I never saw again, but I don’t believe either one of them knows the impact they had on me those sixty years ago simply by believing in, and choosing me. Fred and Sterling are my Everyday Heroes #10 and 11.

Everyday Hero #9

 September 22, 2022

I’ve received requests to keep the Everyday Hero series going, so I guess I’ll keep at it till I run out of them.

“Rugged” is not the first word that comes to mind when I think of Ozzie Palmer. He was tall, with wavy blonde hair, a ready smile, and eyes that twinkled behind thick glasses. When he took them off, he was practically blind, but he never let poor eyesight keep him from what he loved. He sang tenor in the church choir and men’s quartet, but it wasn’t his singing that makes him an Everyday Hero. It was his leadership. “Cap,” as we called him, was a gentle, steady presence in my teenage years. He earned that nickname as captain of our church’s Christian Service Brigade, a Christian version of the Boy Scouts. To make a long story short, he loved the boys that showed up every Tuesday evening.

His easy-going manner belied a toughness that enabled him to keep up with twenty or thirty boys for two hours each Tuesday evening. Lineup and basic drill, games and contests, lessons and memory verses, all this and more were regular fare at those weekly gatherings. Boys don’t pay attention to such things as behind-the-scenes preparation, accountability with the governing body of the church, and guiding the team of men and older boys who led the organization. 

We went on campouts, summer and winter, spent weeks at Camp Hickory Hill, living in small cabins with a pot-bellied stove in the center for heat. I remember long hikes, digging into a snowbank that would provide shelter for the sleeping bag in which we would spend the night. We learned responsibility, respect, and resilience from those weekly meetings and monthly outings. Through it all, Ozzie Palmer was the steady, guiding hand that kept us all in line and eager to come back next week.

We grew up and moved on; Westside Baptist has grown and changed its name to something more chic; I don’t believe they even have a CSB chapter any more, but the lessons learned and the camaraderie we had remains in my heart. I am indebted to Ozzie Palmer for the quality of his character, his quiet but firm leadership, and his continuing love for us boys that guided us as we lurched through our teenage years into young adulthood. His son Mark was one of my best friends. Sadly, I lost track of him after going off to college. I never got to tell him how much his example meant to me. So tonight, I’m telling his kids: Ozzie Palmer is my Everyday Hero #9.

Everyday Hero #8

 September 21, 2022

Pastor Ellis is my last Everyday Superhero (at least for now). I’ll tell you right from the start that he wasn’t the greatest preacher. I sat under his teaching for nearly a decade, and cannot remember a single sermon, but I heard them three times a week: Sunday morning and evening, and Wednesday night prayer meetings. Here’s what amazes me about that: When we first started attending Westside Baptist Church, he was pastoring part-time. While holding a full time job at Kodak, he prepared three sermons each week, visited the sick, officiated at funerals, weddings, baptisms, worked alongside the men on Monday night work nights. I don’t know how he managed to do everything he did.

When my maternal grandfather lay dying in the hospital in Clifton Springs, NY, easily an hour and a half from the church, pastor Ellis drove there every day, sat with him, prayed with him, till the day came when my grandfather’s stubborn will broke down and he prayed to receive Christ. Every day. By that time, Pastor Ellis had left his job at Kodak to pastor the church full time. It was a financial sacrifice; Kodak was one of the best places to work back then. Pastor Ellis left that behind, and drove to Clifton Springs every day. My grandfather is with Jesus today because of the faithfulness of Pastor Ellis. 

When it was time to consider going to college, I talked with Pastor Ellis. He gently warned me about the things I would encounter when away from home. No, it wasn’t drugs or even premarital sex. He was concerned that my faith not be compromised by false teaching at that Wesleyan college to which I had applied.

While I was away at school, the church elders decided that Westside needed a more educated pastor to reach the growing suburban population of the area. Pastor Ellis had only a three-year Bible School degree, which didn’t have the sophistication of a four-year degree followed by a Masters. He was let go, and ended up in a small church a bit west of the city in Parma Corners.  

He participated in my ordination—a Fundamental Baptist laying hands on me alongside my United Methodist bishop and District Superintendent. In our system, it’s the bishop who ordains, but for me, it was Pastor Ellis’ hands that I felt most. Years later, I was able to visit him and his wife in their condo in Florida. I told him how much his example in ministry had impacted me, and whenever I considered what it meant to be a pastor, his face came to mind. He died soon after that visit, and I am so very grateful I had the opportunity to tell him how much he meant to me. 

I’m retired myself now, but when I think of what it means to be a pastor, Charles Ellis comes to mind, a true Everyday Hero.

Everyday Hero #7

 September 20, 2022

I should have reversed the order of my Everyday Heroes. Today would have been my mother’s 100th birthday, but I’ve written about her, so today belongs to my father.

It took me some years to really appreciate my dad. He wasn’t an “upfront” kind of man. He didn’t sing in the choir, teach a Sunday School class, or lead a Bible study. His church work was in the shadows, often unnoticed. I didn’t understand things the way I do today, and secretly wished he could be like some of the other men of the church I knew. 

That all changed one night. Dad was on numerous committees, and on this particular evening, he walked in the door after one of them and announced that he had given up all his committee work except trustees. “Too many nights away from the family,” he said. That night, he taught me about true priorities.

Then there was “the other woman,” Inge Leinenbaugh, a very attractive younger woman who worked in dad’s office, and was having marital problems. Somehow, she settled on dad as the one to whom she would go for counsel. Dad never wavered. His faithfulness to my mother through good times and bad, was rock solid. That lesson too, was not lost on me.

I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him someone had broken into our car and stolen his toolbox. I had taken the boat and trailer to Hamlin Beach state park so our youth group could go waterskiing. We finished the outing with a campfire on the beach, after which I went to get the car and trailer so we could take the boat out of the water. Dad’s tools were gone. When I told him, he never said a word. He didn’t berate, scold, or beat me. He just looked at me and slowly turned away. It would have felt better if he had hit me, but he didn’t. Another thing he didn’t do: he never mentioned that incident again.

After dad retired, he and mom would traverse the Eastern Seaboard with a group called RVICS, “Volunteers in Christ’s Service,” working for Christian camps and schools, doing work they couldn’t otherwise afford, repairing, building, doing secretarial work, etc. They loved it, made lifelong friends, and left another example of quietly serving Christ even when no one is looking.

Dad inherited his hearing issues from his mother and passed them on to me. For the last four or five years of his life, we watched him slowly recede from life because he couldn’t hear. It never made sense to me that you can get health insurance that covers glasses, but only very rarely hearing aids. You can be blind and still be a part of peoples’ lives, participating in conversations. If you can’t hear, you are cut off, and eventually, you stop trying. I know. 

In April of his last year with us, the VA got him some new digital hearing aids, and it was like a resurrection! He was once more engaged in life! On Father’s Day that year, I called and wished him a happy Father’s Day. We talked for perhaps twenty minutes; something that would have been impossible a mere three months earlier. He was at their campsite on Lake Alice along with my brother, sister, mom, and assorted grandkids. When I hung up the phone, I commented to Linda how wonderful it was to be able to talk with him again. We got in the car and had started down the road to her mother’s place when we got a call from my nephew. “Poppa’s had a brain bleed. He had gone to take a nap, and my brother called to wish him a happy Father’s Day. When he answered the phone, his speech was all garbled. You better come.”

We turned around, got there as quickly as we could, but he never regained consciousness, and died later that evening. People have said how awful it was for him to die on Father’s Day, but I don’t see it that way. He closed his eyes here, and opened them to look on the face of his Savior, Jesus Christ. He was at one of his favorite places, enjoying his favorite Zweigle’s White Hots, surrounded by those he loved and who loved him most. I can think of few better ways to go, and of few better people to be Everyday Hero #7.

Everyday Hero #6

 September 19, 2022

Some heroes don’t look the part. And some heroes would be considered villains by others. Today’s is that kind of hero.

“Ron” grew up rough. His father was terribly abusive, and “Ron” bore the brunt of much of his violence. In his efforts to survive, he fought hard, he drank hard, and his family paid the price. He was married at least twice that I know of, and even as adults, most of his kids seemed always on the edge, or in the middle of trouble. He loved them, but didn’t know how to be a good father because his own father wasn’t able to teach him. I could tell stories, but that’s not what this is about.

I met Ron when he was putting the roof on our new church. Roofing—that’s what he did. He was rightfully proud of his work, but what stands out to me is not just the quality of his work, but of his heart. He would literally give you the shirt off his back. He hired some of the scruffiest young men I’ve ever seen on a job, and then had to constantly supervise them because they would inevitably screw things up if he left them for even a short time. He was constantly lending them money he sorely needed himself and which he rarely got back. He never had much of this world’s goods, but was content living out on that back country road.

Once, we needed a new roof on the house. It was two stories on the front, and 3 stories up on the back, and almost a 1:1 pitch. He gave me an estimate, and I told him I couldn’t afford to do the whole thing at once. He offered to carry the balance as a loan to me, which I declined. “I can’t have you taking the hit for the job,” I protested. His response? “God will take care of it.” 

The hard-living, chain-smoking, whiskey-guzzling roofer was preaching to the preacher. He did the whole job, scrambling all over the roof like a monkey, and just as he said, God took care of it.

At some point, he began coming to church, and became a good friend, sticking by me when others were walking out. I guess he had experienced enough of that himself, and understood. He joined our small discipleship group for awhile, but then came a life-altering event: His brother committed suicide. He had been stopped for DUI in Ohio, and knew with his past brushes with the law what it meant. “I”m not going back to jail,” he vowed before going home and putting a gun to his head.

Ron was shaken to the core. In the days, weeks, and months afterwards, when I would stop over to see him, he would often be drunk, weeping and proclaiming, “I don’t see how anyone could do that to himself.” 

“Ron,” I responded more than once, “You’re doing the same thing with that bottle, only you’re doing it slowly.” His grief, and his response to it, eventually cost him his marriage. 

Ron’s lifestyle was catching up to him; he needed open heart surgery. Years of smoking had taken their toll. I prayed with him before they carted him away. Surgery was “successful,” but he had a stroke on the operating table. His entire right side and his speech was affected. Months of physical therapy made no difference, and Ron has for years now, been trapped inside a body that allows him very limited mobility and no speech. And yet, every time I visit him, he is cheerful. I take him coffee and a donut, tell him the latest news in my life, and about twenty minutes later, he reaches out his good left hand and I know it’s time to pray. 

My prayer is always one of gratitude for this man, for his friendship, his faith when mine was weak, and for his genial and gentle spirit. I’ve never seen him morose, silently griping. He always has a smile, and brings one to my face, just by seeing him. Most people wouldn’t see him as a spiritual giant; after all, he spent most of his life on the other side of the tracks, but “Ron” is an Everyday Hero to me, and I am blessed and humbled to be his friend.

Everyday Hero #5

 September 18, 2022

Everyday Hero #5 is John Helwig.

In 1960, I was the sullen kid dragged to church and Sunday School by my parents. If that weren’t bad enough, I had to attend Sunday night youth meetings, too. Those were the days of Sunday evenings’ “The Wonderful World of Disney,” and “Wild Kingdom” with Marlin Perkins, both holding forth adventures and wonders designed to appeal to an 11 year-old boy. Having to miss those TV shows didn’t do much to endear me to church.

But on this particular evening as we kids sat in the long, narrow room in the basement corner next to the church kitchen, a short, stocky, bald elderly gentleman stepped into the room with a contraption he had put together, consisting of a light fixture wired to a bowl of water, with an ordinary household plug on the other end. The extension cord from which this was made had one of its wires cut in the middle; each end was submerged in the bowl of water while the other wire was unbroken to the plug, which was inserted into the outlet in the wall.

He began talking about Jesus being the light of the world, and how he said we are to be the salt of the earth. As he spoke, he slowly stirred table salt into the water, and the lightbulb began to glow, dimly at first, but more brightly as he continued stirring salt into the water. I don’t remember all that he said, but I was impressed enough that when he asked if anyone wanted to receive Jesus Christ as Savior, I raised my hand. 

After the meeting, I talked with the pastor’s wife, who explained to me repentance and faith in Christ, and how to be saved. I prayed that evening to receive Jesus into my heart, and in my youthful way, knew something had shifted inside me. The following Sunday when the invitation was given, I stepped out of my seat, walked down the aisle, and publicly proclaimed my faith in Christ. I was baptized soon after. Much has changed in the intervening years. That church grew and added a more contemporary worship space and the sanctuary became a gymnasium, but I could walk in there today, down the steps to the fellowship hall and that room by the kitchen, and point out the very spot where I stood and prayed, and was born again.

A few years after that night, John Helwig, the (as he described himself) “German Squarehead who brought me to Christ, became my grandfather, Poppa Helwig, when he married my widowed grandmother. Years later as he lay in the hospital dying, I visited him and reminded him of his influence in my life. Life hadn’t been easy for him in those latter years, but the smile that crept over his face that evening said everything I wanted to hear. Poppa Helwig is another Everyday Hero to me.

Everyday Hero #4

 September 17, 2022

My fourth Everyday Hero is my mother. Before I go any further, it needs to be said that our family was far from perfect. We had our issues, but since I still have living siblings and nieces and nephews, it wouldn’t be fair to air our dirty laundry publicly. Suffice it to say, no family is perfect, and ours was no exception. Like all families, some things got swept under the rug where they still lie, and other things we handled as best we could.

That being said, my mother remains one of my heroes even after having gone on to be with Jesus. One of the main reasons for this is her decision when I was about 11 or 12 that we as a family should start going to church. I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but she persisted, and one Sunday, instead of happily waving to my friend Jack as he sullenly stared from the backseat of his family car enroute to church, I joined the sad procession myself. 

It was my mother’s decision and insistence that led to my brother coming to Christ, and ultimately, myself. But that was only the beginning of her hero status. Growing up, every Friday evening we would pile in the car and head to her parents’ house for dinner. We stayed until the Friday night fights were over. Saturdays was at my father’s home for dinner, staying until Lawrence Welk was over. It may not seem like much, but the orderliness of our life was a gift beyond measure. Sunday was church, morning and evening; Tuesday, Christian Service Brigade, Wednesday prayer meetings, Friday and Saturday at our grandparents.

I was an adult before I thought to ask mom what that was like for her. “I always felt I was in second place,” she responded, suddenly choked by tears. “It was hard.” Kids don’t often know the sacrifices made for them by their parents. I sure didn’t. 

When I was fourteen, she made another of those sacrifices when I responded to a challenge to give ourselves fully to God at a missionary conference. Having just walked down the aisle of the church, the missionary then asked parents to stand in support of their children, even if it meant not seeing them for years at a time. Mom and dad stood. I didn’t understand then the courage and commitment it took to do that. Today, I know.

Mom and dad were married for 67 years (I think). Their faithfulness to the Lord and to each other were a gift most kids never experience. I’m a lot like my father, so I surmise that living with him wasn’t always easy. I know I exasperate Linda quite frequently, and have benefitted from her forgiveness more times than I deserve; I’m sure my father experienced the same from mom. She prayed for me, loved me, and most of all, loved Linda.

One last thing. Mom taught me one lesson that has kept me out of more trouble than I can recall. I had made a commitment to something, but something better had come up, and I wanted to break that original commitment for the other choice. “You stick with your original commitment, even if something better comes along,” she advised. I’m sure there are times when that advice might not be the best, but it has sure saved me a bundle of trouble, and made decision-making much easier. Thank you, mom; my Everyday Hero!

Everyday Hero #3

 September 16, 2022

My third Everyday Hero is my brother. He’s three years older than I, so growing up, we weren’t particularly close. My parents would have said that is an understatement. I don’t remember this so-called incident, so all we have to go on is anecdotal evidence, which is as we all know, inadmissible in court. As the story goes, my grandfather worried that I would kill my brother some day because of my volatile temper, more than adequately demonstrated when I was caught chasing my brother through the house with a baseball bat. What our house was doing with a baseball bat, I cannot imagine, but that’s what I’ve been told.

I do remember one occasion when I was chasing him he ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I was close enough behind that the latch hadn’t had time to click when I barreled through the door, slamming the doorknob completely through the bathroom wall. I don’t remember much after that, so I’m guessing my mom or dad managed to intervene. The amazing part of it all is that he was always bigger than his skinny little brother. All of this I’ve said to paint a general picture of our relationship growing up. The fact that chasing him through the house seems to be a common theme indicates how much he must have bullied me till I snapped.

When I was about eleven or twelve and he therefore between fourteen and fifteen, our mother decided we were going to start attending church. I never bothered asking my brother what he originally thought of this new direction in our lives, but I wasn’t too impressed. But what happened shortly thereafter literally changed my life. My brother got saved! He turned his life over to Jesus Christ, and I saw such a change in him that I thought to myself, “If this can do that for HIM, maybe Jesus can help me.” I’ll tell the details of how it all came about, but long story short, I received Jesus as my Savior, and lo and behold, my temper all but disappeared. 

In the years since, geographical distance hasn’t allowed us to be together as much as either of us would like, but if every younger brother had an older brother like mine, this world would be a much better place. I’ve watched him go through some pretty tough times that would have broken lesser men, but he never flinched. He did what was right and kept going when I would have quit. 

He’s a pretty quiet man, but lives out his faith in such a way that his sons know Jesus. He isn’t a fan of contemporary Christian music, but hey—no one is perfect! So tonight is a shoutout to my brother. He is a leader in his own quiet way. By definition, leaders go first. Had he not done so, I wouldn’t be a Christian or have been a pastor; and knowing my own heart, my marriage probably would have failed and my children and grandchildren wouldn’t know Jesus. So thank you, big brother; you’ve made more of a difference in this world than you know! I’m glad I never caught up to you with that baseball bat.

Everyday Hero #2

 September 15, 2022

My second everyday hero has gone on to be with the Lord: Bob Pascoe was my District superintendent in the early 90’s. His coming on the district happened to coincide with an occupational crisis I was experiencing at the time. I had been pastor here in Sinclairville for about ten years, and was doing all the pastoral things we clergy do; preparing and preaching sermons, making hospital calls, baptizing people, marrying and burying folks, leading meetings, etc., but it had lost its lustre. I was going through the motions, but finding little satisfaction in it. I thought to myself, “If I have to do this the rest of my life, I won’t be able to stand it.”

At his very first meeting with all the district pastors, Bob cited statistics documenting our denominational decline and said, “If we continue doing church the way we’ve been doing it, there won’t be a United Methodist Church in twenty years.” He then proposed grouping pastors according to the size of our congregations instead of by geography. Park church at the time was in between what he called the “pastoral church,” and the “program church.” The former had an average attendance of from about 75 to 150, the latter from 150-300. The pastoral size is about all one pastor can handle by himself. The program church needed a more organized approach with volunteer staff. I decided I wanted to play with the big boys, and Bob led by taking us to seminars and conferences all over the country.

Methodist pastors are not generally known for lengthy tenures at their churches, but Bob wanted to see what would happen if we were able to stay for ten, twenty, and even thirty years. When the bishop wanted to get me back in the active itineracy, Bob protected me, giving me time to grow the church and to heal it when things went south. During that time, Bob was my listening ear and spiritual counselor. 

To this day, I don’t know why he took me under his wing, but he literally saved my ministry by doing so. I will always be in his debt. When cancer took him from us, I lost a good friend and ally. In Bob, the Scripture was fulfilled: “A man who has friends must himself be friendly, But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” (Proverbs 18:24). Bob was that friend to me.

Everyday Hero #1

 September 14, 2022

The theme for this year’s Walk for Life is “Everyday Heroes.” Our daughter has encouraged Linda and myself to record a one-minute video about someone who has been a hero in our lives. I have a problem with this: My life is filled with everyday heroes, so I’ve decided to write about some of them over the next few days.

My first and greatest hero is my wife Linda. She is the most unselfish person I know. I remember when in college we first met; she would stay up late listening to a friend who was going through a difficult situation. By late, I mean into the wee hours of the morning, even if she had an 8:00 am class. She would give everything she had to her basketball team, even though she had a bad hip that would leave her limping at the end of the game. 

I cannot remember the number of times she would come home late from work because some kid needed extra help that her regular class teacher wouldn’t stay after to give. She has taught a women’s Bible study for 25 years, often getting into the car on a cold winter night when she’d much rather be home. She soldiers through headaches and weariness to be available to others.

When our kids were growing up, she was the one with the patience to listen far into the night for that one little clue to what was going on inside them when I had zoned out hours earlier. Again, I can’t recall how many times I heard her say, “Some things you do just because it is the right thing to do.” And she did, even to people who had hurt or disappointed her.

She loves being home. She rarely sits down, is always cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, making sure our house a place I always want to come home to.

No marriage is without its issues, and we have had our fair share of them, but she has had more patience with me than I deserve. She holds no grudges. Year by year, she has gotten easier to live with, and she wasn’t hard to begin with. She is loyal to a fault, is my confidant, and quite often, when God speaks to me, his voice sounds a lot like Linda’s. There is no one I would rather spend my time with, no one who I would trust more. Linda definitely is my everyday hero. 

Glory

 September 13, 2022

“[Moses] said, “Please, show me Your glory.” (Exodus 33:18)

“Glory” is a funny word. It used to be pretty commonplace, but not anymore. I can remember my great-grandmother saying, “Glory be!” when she was surprised, or just needed to express delight. Some years ago, I dug into Kittel’s Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, a multi-volume treatment of nearly every word in the New Testament. It delves into not only the Greek, but the Hebrew and Aramaic backgrounds of the NT vocabulary. Twenty large pages of small type later, and my head was swimming.

The word Moses used referred to “weightiness,” or “significance.” Whatever it was Moses wanted to see, the problem he encountered was that if he were to behold it directly, it would kill him. God told him, “I will make all My goodness pass before you…but You cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me, and live.” God’s glory was always hidden in a cloud, whether on the Mountain, or before the Tabernacle. It could be seen secondarily in a storm, a whirlwind, or an earthquake, but could not be experienced directly. 

The Lord continued, “Here is a place by Me, and you shall stand on the rock. So it shall be, while My glory passes by, that I will put you in the cleft of the rock, and will cover you with My hand while I pass by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back; but My face shall not be seen.”” —from Exodus 33:18-23 

And yet earlier in this very chapter, it is said that God spoke with Moses face to face, as a man talks with a friend. What is going on? Obviously, we cannot read this text literally. To do so makes it contradictory and meaningless. “Face to face” here simply expresses the unusual intimacy between God and Moses that was still limited by the latter’s ability to absorb it all. When God tells Moses he shall only see his back, he is letting him know that as intimate as his relationship with God is, it is still limited by the vast magnificence of God and the minuscule ability of even a man of Moses’ stature to experience it. 

The amazing part of the story is not told in these verses, but in the New Testament, where Moses and Elijah are seen speaking with Jesus in the Transfiguration, before disappearing from sight in a cloud. Moses’ prayer was finally answered on that day, and the wonder of it all is that we get to experience God’s glory in a way Moses never did when he walked this earth. John tells us that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14) 

Jesus doesn’t meet our expectations of glory. We expect grand and glorious pomp and circumstance, but he came to us in weakness and humility. The cloud has melted away, the curtain has been torn back, and God’s glory is seen in this Man who willingly gave his life a sacrifice for our sins and rose from death. It doesn’t seem very glorious, but it reveals who God really is, and that is what God’s glory is all about…who he really is. He is Jesus Christ, saving the world through his death and resurrection. That is where we find God’s glory!

Clothing

 September 12, 2022

A couple days ago, I wrote about our culture’s casual approach to even the most significant aspects of life. I noted that if we wouldn’t dream of seeking audience with Queen Elizabeth dressed in dirty, ragged clothes, why would we come to church that way to meet the Almighty God? Comments received indicate I may have overstated my case. Admittedly, I do at times miss the formality of dressing up for church. I know it’s a cultural thing; when I was a kid, men attended baseball games in suits and ties, usually topped off with a fedora and a stogie.

People don’t dress up much these days, and I do believe it contributes to some of the problems we face. We do tend to “act the part,” and we all have seen the difference in dress as well as demeanor when someone is able to step out of a drug-addled life to freedom from addiction.

When worship is concerned, what is most important is not the external dress, but that of the heart. We are told in Scripture to “put off the old man,” and to be “clothed with Christ and his righteousness.” Most of us have had experience with people who were dressed to the nines, but treated others with contempt. “Basket of Deplorables” comes to mind, but there are plenty of examples of people who look impressive on the outside, but are despicable inside.

If I had to choose between a church filled with men in suits and ties and women in nice dresses, or pews filled with shabbily dressed people who have few social graces but plenty of spiritual grace, I’ll choose the latter every time. They may not look as nice or even smell as good, but filled with the Holy Spirit, at least they won’t stab you in the back.

21 Years

 September 11, 2022

It’s hard to believe it’s been 21 years. I remember where I was when I heard Kennedy was shot, and where I was when the towers came down. We watched the news replays over and over, somehow believing that if we willed it hard enough, the ending would change. We stood shoulder to shoulder for those few weeks, but gradually returned to fighting amongst ourselves once more. I wonder what we’ve learned.

Not having been there myself, I never feel I have words adequate for this day. What could I possible add to all that has been said over the past 21 years? Seven of my nine grandchildren hadn’t been born when we were attacked, and our two eldest were both pre-schoolers. Now, two have graduated college, one is married, two are in college, and two more will be next year. They will never know the unity we felt that day. I wish we as a nation were more willing to work together for common goals, but listening to mainstream media, one would think we have none, and that America is the most racist, destructive, and oppressive country on earth. 

Yesterday, our village hosted our 23rd annual History Days. Vendors set up their booths on the village commons (notice that word) the day before, and the celebration kicked off in front of the village museum with a prayer and those in attendance singing the National Anthem, followed by a parade of fire trucks, tractors, floats, classic cars and motorcycles, and ending with fireworks. It is occasions like this that give me hope that all is not lost in this great country of ours, and when the shenanigans of state and national politics gets too much for me, I remember days like this and my faith in Christ that reminds me that God is in control, did just fine before there ever was a United States, and will continue to do so long after we’re gone. To many, it sounds corny, but I’ll still say it: “God bless the USA!”

Godly Men

 September 10, 2022

“What was the best part of the day for you?” I had asked Linda this question, and after answering, she turned the tables on me. I had to choose between having the grandkids overnight (which is always a plus for us!), Sinclairville History Days, our annual village celebration which features all that’s good about small town life, and listening to some men talk about how Jesus Christ has changed their lives. As much as I love our grandkids, and however much I appreciate living in a small village, I had to vote for the men.

There is something unique about men who are willing to share their faults and failings so others can experience God’s grace for themselves. Over the years, I’ve known men who simply cannot or don’t want to relate to a pastor. It’s like pastors live on a different planet, often one men have no interest in inhabiting. But another man who works in a factory, drives a truck, or goes to an office day after day is a different story, especially when that man is willing to admit his struggles. Suddenly, a different life doesn’t seem so unattainable. 

I listened to these men tell how Jesus rescued them from sin and self, and literally turned their lives around; I am humbled to stand with them and deeply grateful for their testimonies of the power of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They inspire and encourage me to be a better man myself.

Dressing Up

September 9, 2022

The death of Queen Elizabeth II will expose us all to something we see only rarely these days: ceremonial pomp and order. The royal family along with various lords and ladies, barons and baronesses, and others whose status is unknown to me, will gather at Westminster Chapel in London for her funeral. Every one of them will be dressed in formal attire. Why do they outfit themselves in such an extravagant manner? 

It is a sign of respect to dress up for momentous occasions, something which many of us have forgotten in these casual days in which we live. Unless one is in white collar business, suits and ties are an endangered species, a dress on a woman is seen only at weddings, baptisms, funerals, and graduation parties. In an attempt to “meet people where they are,” even our pastors preach in jeans and T shirts these days. Call me old-fashioned, but though I’ve loosened up for attending worship, I haven’t been able to bring myself to preach in anything less than suit and tie.

There is good reason for doing so. In Exodus 28, God gave Moses instructions regarding the vestments the priests were to wear when leading worship. They were to wear “holy garments…for glory and beauty…that [they] might minister to Me as priest.” Note the words “glory” and “beauty.” We Christians are caught in the middle. Jesus came to bring God to us in human and approachable form. We are encouraged by the Gospel to “come as we are.” Cleaning up our act before coming to Christ is like saying I need to get well before seeing the doctor. We come like beggars with all our ragged and dirty sins, begging Jesus to clothe us in his righteousness. 

The intimacy of the Incarnation has opened the door to our salvation, but at the same time, it runs the risk of inuring us to the holiness and majesty of God. Ripped jeans and T shirts would not do for an audience with the Queen, so why are they appropriate for an audience with the King of kings? I’m not campaigning to shut people out of church; my opinions aren’t going to change much in our casual culture, but I do think we’ve lost something along the way. 

There is one major difference between how we approach God and how we would approach earthly royalty. Queen Elizabeth’s humanity was only seen by her immediate family and associates. Her public persona was always royalty. By contrast, Jesus’ humanity is seen by all, his royalty only by those who have come to know him intimately through repentance and faith. No matter how we dress on the outside, when we come before the King of kings and Lord of lords, we should be wearing the vestments of Christ’s righteousness, the garments of holiness only he provides. The wedding guest who wasn’t wearing the proper wedding clothes was thrown out of the party (Matthew 22). The invitation is to all the outcasts and lowly, but coming to the wedding means dressing for the part, putting on the righteousness of Christ himself. 

East and West

 September 8, 2022

“As far as the east is from the west, so far has he cast our transgressions from us.”  

—Psalm 103:12

This is a wonderful verse of Scripture! It doesn’t say “as far as the north is from the south,” but “as far as the east is from the west.” We can only go north until we reach the North Pole, after which we can only travel south. There is a limit to north and south, but there is none with east and west. You can travel east for a lifetime and never meet west. There is no end to east and west. 

Sometimes my sins feel close; their remembrance is all too fresh and clear. But in Christ, God has removed it so far that it can never be found. He removes our sins so completely because he is both holy and loving. He cannot abide the presence of sin, because of his holiness, but because of his love, he wants us near. Psalm 99 tells us that God took vengeance on our sin; the Gospel tells us this happened on the Cross.

It is a wonderful thing to have our sins so completely separated from us. If you’ve ever been in a loving relationship that was clouded and obscured by even a misunderstanding, you understand the loneliness and sense of lostness such separation brings. God knows this, and went to great lengths to keep that from happening. He sent His Son to secure our forgiveness, gives his Holy Spirit for strength, his Word for guidance, and the fellowship of believers for encouragement. When we take advantage of all he has done, God himself celebrates with such joy that he breaks into song. 

“The Lord your God in your midst, The Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”” —Zephaniah 3:17 

Imagine…the Living God, Creator of all there is, Redeemer of all who will accept him, is singing a love song to you at this very moment, because you let him remove your sins from you as far as the east is from the west!

Good Judgment

 September 7, 2022

The older I get, the more I realize how little I know. Which is why when I listen to politicians tell us how they alone can fix what’s wrong with our country, I know they are either deluded or just plain lying. This morning’s reading came from Psalm 119. 

Verse 66 says, “Teach me good judgment and knowledge…” Skipping down a couple verses to 68, we read, “Teach me your statutes.” I do my best to exercise good judgment; I try to learn as much as I can about circumstances before settling on an opinion or course of action, but I realize that my knowledge is limited and often colored by my own biases, preferences, and perspective, none of which are necessarily shared by others. I used to think I acted on logic alone, sort of like Spock, but years have taught me that my emotions color and drive much of what I do. I don’t on my own possess good judgment and knowledge. I need to be taught.

How does this teaching happen? Through the Word of God. If I make a decision based on my own reasoning, there is a pretty good chance I’ll get it wrong. I need to be taught good judgment and knowledge, and it comes as I am taught by the unchanging Word of God. One of the reasons our nation is in such turmoil and confusion is that we have abandoned the foundational precepts and principles that guided us for two hundred years. We have cut ourselves adrift, so it is no wonder we are dangerously close to being driven on the rocks of chaos and anarchy. 

I confess I am too eager to cast judgment on others’ poor and disastrous decisions until I remember that apart from God’s Word, I would be doing the same things. Any good decisions I’ve made have been because of God nudging, or sometimes bludgeoning me with his corrective Word. He teaches me good judgment and knowledge only if I am willing to be taught by his Word.

Children’s Children

 September 6, 2022

School has begun, fall sports are upon us. For many retirees, this would be no big deal, but when we have three grandkids in three different local school systems playing two or three different sports, our schedule can fill up in a hurry. Often, like tonight, Linda goes in one direction, and I in another. And we only catch home games!

We regularly remark to each other on how blessed we are to be able to be a part of their lives. Even those who have graduated and gone on to college or into the world of work stop over when they’re home. It always amazes me that they want to include us in their lives as much as they do. I loved my grandparents, but didn’t have the relationship with them that we have with our grandkids. 

We don’t understand it. We were no smarter than anyone else. We weren’t more righteous or devoted to God. We did make the commitment that no matter what, we would work through things. Divorce was not in our vocabulary. We knew what kind of end product we wanted with our children, and made decisions based on whether it would shape them in the image of God or strain their faith and confuse their minds. Our rules were few and simple, and with much prayer, lots of hard work, and by the grace of God, they turned out well, and the blessing has been passed down to our grandchildren. And now, we have the privilege of living in Psalm 128:

“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!”

Mercy and Judgment

 September 5, 2022

Thirty-one years ago, Harrison Ford burst forth on the big screen in “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” with  plot twists and turns that kept audiences glued to the edge of their seats. It’s still one of my favorite movies. The story centered around a plot by Nazi sympathizer Rene Belloq to recover the lost Ark of the Covenant for its supposed occultic powers to be used in the service of the Nazis in the 1930s. This fanciful story has its roots loosely set in Exodus 21, which describes the construction of the Ark of the Covenant, and in the Biblical prohibitions against touching or looking into it.

The Ark itself was a box approximately 3 /34 feet long by 2 1/4 wide and high, covered in gold and containing stones of Ten Commandments, a pot of manna, and Aaron’s rod that budded. The lid, called the Mercy Seat, had two Cherubim, angelic beings with wings outspread to cover the Ark. It was to be kept hidden from view, seen only once each year by the High Priest when he entered the Most Holy Place with blood from the sacrifice which would be sprinkled on the Mercy Seat. The symbolism couldn’t be much plainer.

The Law which exposed to us our sins, lay next to the manna—God’s provision for his people, and Aaron’s rod which budded, a symbol of legitimate authority. All was covered by the Mercy Seat on which was sprinkled the blood of the sacrifice by the High Priest. The Covenant, ie, the unbreakable commitment of God to his people was based on the Law which ordered society, the manna of God’s provision, and the rod of God’s legitimate authority. But over all is God’s mercy. And all the work of salvation is hidden in the intimacy of the Father’s communion with the Son through the Holy Spirit. 

Judgment without mercy is hopeless, but covered with mercy, it secures the orderliness of life and the release from our sins through the loving gift of the salvation of God.

Grandkids’ Blessing

 September 4, 2022

Last night Linda and I were puttering about the house with various minor chores when I heard a commotion out back. Actually, it was Emma who heard the commotion and added her own, barking at what was then unseen intruders who turned out to be son-in-law Todd, his youngest, Gemma, and their dog Simon. They had walked up the creek from their house to ours. Our daughter was having a girls’ night on their back porch with a few friends, which seemed to Todd to be a good time to take a hike.

We visited for about 45 minutes before they decided it was time to walk back home. Linda and I had just settled in to a show on TV when another commotion presented itself at our front door. Granddaughters Eliza, Gemma, and Mattie, along with Gemma’s friend Ellie had decided to go for a walk which ended at our front door. They came in, talking and laughing, chattering away until we offered ice cream, after which the talk picked up pace again. It was after dark when they decided it was time to walk back home by the lights from their phones. I LOVE living in a small village where four girls can walk home after dark without fear!

Tonight, we were in bed after a long day of worship, family, and friends. We had just gotten home from spending the evening with two of her sisters and their husbands. I was working on my evening post when I got a text from granddaughter Isabel: “Beepa, are you and Meema awake?” Her family had been in Panama for the afternoon, and decided to camp there overnight. Izzi doesn’t like camping, and told them she would go home to sleep in her own bed. Part way home, she decided she didn’t want to be home alone, and called to ask if she could stay with us. Meema and Beepa’s isn’t quite the Hilton, but it’s better than camping or home alone. So I unlocked the front door and turned on some lights; in a few minutes, she’ll be here. 

Linda and i have often talked about the blessings that seem to abound for us. We are in good health, have resources that enable us to be generous with others, and family nearby who like being with us. We may be tired tonight, but we are even more grateful for grandkids who still come around, blessing us with laughter and love.