Lost and Found

November 7, 2016

The saga continues! My poor cell phone had to spend the night shivering in the cold, lost and all alone, wondering if anyone even missed her, while back at home, I nervously paced the floor, worried sick, starting at every sound, picturing in my mind the worst scenarios. Doesn't that sound like the plot for a good story? Alas, only part of it is true. The phone did spend the night out in the cold, but after praying about it, I slept like a baby till about four thirty this morning, when I awoke from a dream in which I had found it nestled in some weeds near the overpass just north of Falconer.

Unable to get back to sleep, I got up, showered and dressed, and left a note for Linda. It had occurred to me that although calling my number wouldn't help because I had set it on silent mode, perhaps If I dialed it in the dark, I could see it light up. I drove to Falconer, parked the car and began walking the route from the church parking lot to Hough Hill Road, about half a mile out of town, all the while repeatedly dialing my number. To no avail.

On the drive home, it occurred to me that with gps technology on the phone, perhaps there were a way to log in and locate it using my iPad. Lo and behold, I had downloaded just such an app somewhere along the line, and after breakfast and about fifteen minutes of fiddling, I was staring at a map of Work Street in Falconer, just south of the expressway overpass, with an icon of my phone center screen. Linda offered to go with me to look for it.

She has started calling me Tim for my computer savviness, and would prefer that from now on I call her Abby Sciuto. While I was searching the weeds alongside the road, she scuffled along the curb, kicking up the leaves. We hadn't been there ten minutes when she came walking up with a smirk, asking me who I loved the most, before handing me my phone, a bit worse for wear, but still working.

In one of Jesus' parables, he speaks of a woman who searched her house for a lost a coin, rejoicing when she found it. In that culture, it wasn't just any coin, but part of her dowry, her insurance for hard times or old age in a day when a woman was always just a heartbeat away from financial disaster and economic insecurity. Today, it isn't those things that plague most of us; it's things like losing a cell phone with all one's contacts, security information, and schedule, alongside a host of other applications that have become necessities upon which we depend. The rejoicing of the woman in the story was Jesus' way of describing the joy in heaven over one sinner who repents. Today, he would get his point across talking about a lost cell phone, which while not a major catastrophe, would have been a major and expensive inconvenience. I'll have to live with a screen that looks like a spider web, but I can do that.

And I am feeling the nudge of the Holy Spirit. When was the last time I was as determined to look for a lost person as I was to look for this lost phone? What does that say about my priorities, my values, my faithfulness? I think I'll hang onto this phone. It is a good reminder of the persistence of Jesus in his searching for me, and is a challenge to me to care as much for a lost soul as a lost phone. Tonight, I am not only giving thanks IN this; I am giving thanks FOR this lost and found, cracked up phone (1 Thess. 5:18, Eph. 5:20).

Butter Fingers

November 6, 2016 Lately it seems like everything I pick up, I drop. Friday, it was my bass. Today I preached at Falconer United Methodist, and was invited by the pastor to help serve communion, which I was glad to do. I was one of two serving the bread. I observed that when the communicant approached the server, the latter would break off a piece of the bread and hand it to the communicant, so I followed suit, which went well for awhile. For awhile. When we were about halfway through the line, I handed a piece of bread to a little old lady who didn't quite get a grip on it before I let go. The bread bobbled, I reached for it as it bounced twice from my grip before hitting the floor. It looked like that commercial where the guy is fumbling his phone across traffic and through the house before losing it in the swimming pool. The communion decorum was completely lost as I noticed those behind shaking as they tried to conceal their mirth. After church, as I walked to the parking lot, I phoned my friend Harry to arrange rides to band rehearsal this afternoon. I put my phone in my pocket as I always do, mounted my bike, and headed for home. I hadn't gone a quarter mile before I noticed my pocket didn't have its normal phone bulge. I turned the bike around, drove slowly back to the church parking lot, scanning the lane I had just occupied. Nothing. Not even a squashed phone. A search of the parking lot revealed nothing. I repeated the circuit. Twice. Still no phone. I had to get home to grab a bite before rehearsal, so I had to let it go. Linda called the pastor to see if anyone had turned in a phone, to no avail. This afternoon as I rushed to rehearsal, I grabbed a cup of coffee to go and placed it in the mug holder in the console of Linda's car. It was too hot to drink, so after just a couple sips, I left the rest and went to rehearsal. When it came time to come home, I loaded my borrowed bass into the car, sliding it into the backseat with the neck between the two front seats and above the console. You know where this is going, don't you? Yep. Unknown to me, the neck nudged the nearly full mug, dribbling its contents into the mug holder next to it. Fortunately, Linda had a supply of restaurant napkins in the glove box, but I know that more coffee entered the mug holder than I sopped out of it. Where the rest of it went, I don't know. Adding all this to my dropped bass, I'm getting a bit nervous about holding onto much of anything. I seem to be...losing my grip. But I am thankful tonight that Jesus doesn't lose his grip on me. Unlike that unruly piece of bread or my slippery phone, I have too often actively tried to wiggle out of God's grip, but fortunately, his hold is strong and secure. Jesus himself said it in John 10:27-29. "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand. I may be butter fingers, but God is not, for which I am thankful tonight.

Answered Prayers

November 5, 2016 Yesterday I wrote about giving thanks in everything, and how that played out when I snapped the neck of my bass. Here's the rest of the story. I took the broken bass to Monaco's in Amherst, about an hour and a half's drive. He is a master luthier, and believes it is fixable, so it's in his capable hands. On the way home, I got to thinking about what exactly in all this I was thankful for (I know, that's not good grammar, but it'll have to do). Three things came to mind: 1) It's fixable. 2) the fix is affordable. 3) I was the one who broke it, and not someone else. Had someone else broken it, it would have been harder to swallow. 4) (I never said I was good at math) It wasn't a vintage instrument. I had almost closed on a 1948 Kay bass before I got this one. Mine is a standard workhorse instrument. It's repairable. Breaking a vintage instrument is another matter altogether. I would have been heartsick for months. But even with these ruminations, I still didn't have a bass for the concert Monday. I texted my bass instructor who sent word out to his college students, hoping for a loaner. Then this afternoon, just before a wonderful play put on by our granddaughter Madeline's middle school, our daughter Jessie texted Bill Eckman, who owns Germaine and Poppalardo music in Jamestown. Grandson Ian takes guitar lessons from Bill, and I've known him for years, a quiet and unassuming, but masterful musician and teacher. When I began taking bass lessons, I had asked Bill if he had any rentals available, but he didn't, so it never occurred to ask him about an instrument today. Bill texted back that he would lend me his own personal bass for the weekend. I've tried it out, and it plays beautifully, much more easily than mine. It will be the Christian thing to do to give it back, and I will be, and am thankful tonight for Bill and his generosity.

Thankful No Matter What

November 4, 2016 This next Sunday I'll be preaching for a pastor friend, hopefully helping to set the stage for a fall stewardship campaign. When we met a few weeks ago to map out what this might look like, we decided that I would speak on gratitude being the foundation for generosity. I believe that to be true, and since I've been writing for three years about gratitude, it wasn't much of a stretch for me to put together. I finished the sermon yesterday, and one of the main points I wanted to make is that gratitude is not dependent upon our circumstances. In 1 Thessalonians 5:18, St. Paul tells us that we should "in everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." He turns up the heat even more in Ephesians 5:20 when he tells us not just to be thankful IN everything, but also to "give thanks FOR everything." Apparently Paul was not particularly concerned with coddling our feelings. Preparing a sermon is one thing; preparing oneself is quite another, and God has some interesting ways of doing that. Today, our granddaughter Alex had been offered a ride to Fredonia with some college friends who were on their way to Rochester for the weekend. Since I was already going to be in Fredonia for band rehearsal, I offered to pick her up, take her out to dinner, and bring her home. When I asked Linda to meet us, she jumped at the chance, as I knew she would. It was a nice day, and I wanted Linda to have her car to meet us there, so instead of taking my bass in the car as I usually do, I loaded it into the back of my pickup. But as I was putting the bass into the back of my truck, it got stuck, and when I dislodged it, it dropped about six inches, snapping the neck. I was just about sick, because our concert is Monday night, and I had been looking forward to playing the upright with the jazz band. I wouldn't go so far as to say God caused this mishap. It was my own lack of foresight in how I placed the instrument into the truck. But I do believe God is giving me both the opportunity of practicing what I preach and a ready-made sermon illustration. I'm still working on Paul's word in Ephesians to give thanks for everything, but at least I am able to give thanks in everything. I called the repair shop and learned that it is fixable and even affordable, so tomorrow I'll take it to Amherst, hopefully I'll be able to get a loaner for the weekend, and I do have a killer sermon illustration that has some real credibility.

Choices

November 3, 2016 Today's Scripture lesson included these words from Jesus: "You refuse to come to me that you may have life." (John 5:40). With these words, Jesus pinpoints the issue we face. We have choices in life, and we choose to accept or refuse Jesus' offer of life. We cannot imagine that we would refuse Jesus; others may, but surely not us! And yet these words stand. We make choices every day either to come to Jesus or to move away from him. We move towards him in worship and obedience; we move away when we yield to temptation, neglect prayer and the Word. At the moment, we don't see our actions and thoughts as receiving or refusing him, but that's what happens. And the end result is that we are daily, even moment by moment, choosing life or death. Tonight, I'm grateful that we have the choice. If it is possible to refuse him, it is also possible to receive him. We are not condemned to a destiny beyond our control. For the choice and the result I am thankful, as well as for the warning Jesus gives us here.

Leadership

November 3, 2016 "It's been harder for you than you thought it would be." Breakfast with pastor Joe is not an everyday occurrence, but it's always interesting and profitable. This morning was no different. We talked and laughed, two pastors thirty years apart, but one in spirit and love for ministry. A lot of people have been wondering how the transition has been working out at this stage of the game, a little more than two years in. I have to admit, it's been an adjustment going from being in the center of all that's going on to not being in the know. An adjustment, but not a bad thing; I'm learning what it's like to be part of the congregation, which has been quite enlightening. Joe's comment is only partly true. There are adjustments I didn't realize I'd have to make, but not having the weight of leadership responsibility has been worth the trade off. Whenever new leadership takes over, there will be changes. Joe is not Jim, and that's a good thing. He has his own style of leadership, his own vision of ministry. But we both love Jesus Christ, and we both love Park church, and in order for Park church to thrive, it is necessary for me to let go and let him lead. When I officiated at weddings, I often told the parents of the bride and groom that if their children were to succeed in marriage, it was necessary for them to let them go, to release them into the care of someone who could never love them as they love them. That's what it's been like in this transition. Has it been challenging? At times. But seeing the church thrive is worth it. Joe is a good pastor. He is different than me, but after 32 years, it was time to let go. Park needed different leadership, and is blessed to have this man at the helm. "It's been harder than you thought it would be." That was pastor Joe's observation. I'm not one to criticize my pastor, but I think he's wrong on this one. It's different in ways, but I made a decision long ago that I would not be an interfering former pastor. I've seen that happen, and it's never pretty. My role now is support, not leadership, and I am grateful to be retired, and to be able to say, "Joe is MY pastor." He leads in his way, and people are coming to Christ, new leaders are being raised up, and the ministry in Cassadaga Valley is growing. How can I be anything but thankful? Thank God, and thank you, Joe.

A Genuine Saint

November 1, 2016 Today is All-Saint's Day, wherein the Church traditionally honors those who have died during the past year. All Hallow's Eve, or Halloween, as we have come to know it, has pagan roots in which the spirits of the dead were placated by "treats" so as to avoid them playing "tricks" on the living. The Church took this pagan festival of darkness and the macabre, and transformed it into a Christian celebration of lives lived in and through the light of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, humanity being what we are, whenever and wherever the Gospel begins to lose its grip on the common life of a society, the Christian celebration begins to wane as the old paganism rises zombie-like from its all-too shallow cultural grave. Halloween in America today almost rivals Christmas in decorations, festivities, and attention, which gives place for somber thought as we consider how religious Christmas observation is under attack in our secular culture. But I digress. The word "saint" has many connotations. In the apostle Paul's letters, he addresses even the most backslidden followers of Christ as "saints." The Corinthian Christians barely demonstrated any Christian virtues whatsoever, yet he calls them saints. The word in this context simply means those who profess to be followers of Christ. Over time, the term became constricted so as to refer only or primarily to those who exhibited such extraordinary Christian character that they were canonized by the Church and given the title "Saint" So and So. We still use this designation when we refer to Saint Peter or Paul, or to the post-apostolic leaders of the Church, such as Saint Augustine or Saint Beatrice. Rarely do we use the term to describe or identify ordinary Christians, but once in awhile, it is particularly fitting to do so. This afternoon, I had the distinct pleasure of sitting in the company of one of God's local saints. She would blush to hear me use this word of her, but it is true. She hasn't performed any miracles of which I am aware (one of the determinants of official sainthood), but there is no doubt in my mind as to the extraordinary Christian character she displays. She witnesses to everyone she meets, and even if someone is hard to love, she manages to do so. She has seen her share of sorrow, borne her portion of pain and suffering, all without rancor, bitterness, or regret. She doesn't get around much anymore; her failing eyesight sees to that, but she is a missionary in her own home, loving those who come to see her, and never failing to try to direct their feet in the ways of Christ. A young person can live a holy life; the movers and shakers in the Christian world are often in their thirties or forties. They make a big splash, live large and faithfully share the Gospel. The Church and the world would be poorer without them, but to my mind, they don't quite make the grade as saints, for one simple reason: It takes a lifetime for God to mold a saint. There is still too much work to be done when we are in our fourth, fifth, or even sixth decade. A genuine saint takes time, which may be why there are so few of them. I had the privilege of sitting with one this All-Saint's Day, and was greatly blessed and am deeply thankful for my friend, Saint Jane Green.