Relief

July 7, 2018

Normally, I am quite cautious in my approach to life. It’s the way I was raised; my father was conservatively cautious, quite adverse to risk. That’s not a bad characteristic—caution does tend to keep one out of trouble, but somewhere along the line, I decided I didn’t want to live that way anymore. To some extent, I didn’t have much of a choice. It’s hard to be cautious if one takes the Bible seriously. Moses confronting Pharaoh, David vs. Goliath, Esther risking her life by standing up for people, Jesus before Pilate—these are not the actions of cautious people. 

The icing on the cake for me was that day I read Jesus’ parable of the Talents; three men entrusted with different sums of money while the master was away. The first two invested the money, risking loss, while the third cautiously hid his in the ground. Upon the master’s return, the first two were commended, while the third was roundly condemned, notwithstanding his excuses. He played it safe, and lost everything. I had read that story countless times, but on that particular day, I understood, and decided I would do my best to be a risk-taker for God.

It didn’t always turn out as I had planned. Overall, the risk was justified as the church grew, but there were plenty of bumps along the way. Still, I would do it all again, except I would stretch even more. I’ve come to realize that faith is really spelled R-I-S-K.

Occasionally, I take that risk without meaning to. Like the evening I opened my big mouth and suggested to the Dunkirk Administrative Council that it would be a good idea to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the dedication of our building by having a big birthday party in the park to which we invited the neighborhood. Free hot dogs, games, music—it all sounded pretty good in the abstract and two months out. The closer the date comes however, the more nervous I become. Which is why I was so relieved yesterday when we finally got help from the Post Office for our direct mail promotion, and grateful today when two different people agreed to help out; one with the music, the other with games for the kids.

I had been getting concerned that after advertising music and games, that we wouldn’t have the people to make it happen, but one of our worship leaders signed on today, completing the roster of necessary people to sing and play. And a phone call today confirmed that my granddaughter and a friend are going to help with the games. People have come out of the woodwork to help out. Conduit church in Jamestown is providing a bounce house, son-cones, popcorn, and perhaps cotton candy. Pillar of Fire in Dunkirk will staff a prayer tent, Park church in Sinclairville is providing the grill for hot dogs a worship team for music, a big birthday cake, and boots on the ground, and the faithful Dunkirk people have been working hard contacting businesses, gathering door prizes, and organizing the whole thing.

As I watch the loose ends coming together, I am grateful to all those who are giving of themselves, most of them people who stand to gain nothing in return. And I am thankful to our Lord Jesus Christ for nudging all those who have said yes. And for those who honestly told me when it wasn’t possible for them to come. Everything we are doing is for the purpose of reaching out to people in our neighborhood who need to know how much God loves them. They are going to get a taste of that love next week. God is good ... all the time!

548

July 6, 2018

Five hundred forty-eight. That’s how many flyers we folded, taped, and sorted into piles of 50. The “we” is important. Had I had to do it all myself, it would have taken me half the day, but Linda suggested we hire a couple grandkids to help out. Eliza had a friend over for the afternoon, but the lure of ready cash did its job, and pretty soon she, her friend Andrea, and her little sister Gemma were seated at the dining room table with piles of flyers in front of them. 

Linda, Eliza, and Andrea folded while I tore the tape and Gemma applied it to the flyers, all the while singing various songs from Moana, stopping only to switch songs or add commentary to the process. Even on a Sunday when talking is what I do, I don’t think I could come up with half of what gleefully poured out of her mouth for the hour or so while we worked. Assembly line productivity kicked in, and we soon had eleven neat piles of fifty flyers sitting in precise order on the kitchen table. It was worth every penny we paid out. 

Apparently the girls thought so too, for when Linda took them home, instead of going all the way, the two older ones wanted to be dropped off at the Superette to get some french fries with their newly-earned money. 

We are blessed to have the grandkids so nearby. This morning while Linda and I sat on the swing in our front yard eating breakfast, Abi pulled in on her way to work. She talked for about fifteen minutes before raiding the freezer in the garage for Linda’s homemade fruit slush to take with her to the beach. We get to bless them, and they in turn bless us with their personalities, kindness, and joy for living.

Patience

July 5, 2018

Sometimes God uses our plans for purposes we never imagined. Back in May when we learned that our Dunkirk church building will be 100 years old on July 14, we decided to throw a community birthday party and began the planning for it. It’s been a stretch, a leap of faith for this small, older congregation to attempt such an event, but we’re giving it all we have. Plenty of details still need to be worked out, but the one that had me most worried was the promotional piece. We decided to do a direct mailing, but had no clue as to how to go about it.

Enter Joe. Sinclairville’s pastor Joe has had experience with direct mailings, and walked me through the basics. Some of the details however, I could only find out at the Dunkirk Post Office. I visited twice, talked with four different people, and received the same answer: “We don’t know how to set this up.” Calling the Buffalo specialist multiple times resulted only in my leaving multiple messages on his answering machine. It was, to put it mildly, frustrating. If he happened to be on vacation, the entire project could crash. 

Everyone has choices. The same people who in February groused about the bitter winter are now complaining about the heat. But they don’t have to; they choose their mood. I had a choice. I could complain or I could see this as an opportunity for me to grow in patience. I chose the latter, and later was blessed by our Sinclairville/Cassadaga postmistress who patiently walked me through the process. 

Learning patience wasn’t part of my plan for this project, but it was apparently part of God’s plan, for which I am thankful tonight. I am also thankful for our postmistress who saved the day and perhaps even the entire program.

Vicarious Blessings

July 4, 2018

It is an almost unimaginable privilege. The thermometer has just about gone through the roof today, with temperatures in the 90s and humidity almost off the charts. It gets hotter in other parts of the country, but with the combination of heat and humidity here, the air is thick and heavy. Those with respiratory issues truly suffer. About an hour ago, our daughter came to check up on us. Apparently she remembered those segments on TV that warn of the dangers of the heat for the elderly. Funny woman, she is!

But think about it. Around here, the only thing on people’s minds seems to be the temperature. Admittedly, it’s a bit uncomfortable, but if that’s the worst thing I have in my life, I am a pretty fortunate human being. We Americans celebrate this day with parties, fireworks, and picnics. Sadly, some of those gatherings will turn sour, fueled by alcohol or drugs. But for most of us, we enjoy this day because what some are calling privileged white slave owners had the foresight and determination to declare independence from an oppressive and unrepresentative government, and “with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence...mutually pledge[d] to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.” 

Some indeed forfeited their lives, most lost their fortunes, but they maintained their honor. Their willingness to confront the greatest military power of the day, and their determination later to form a more perfect union has given us a nation like no other, imperfect indeed, but built upon the ideal of personal freedom. I am, and we are, recipients of their wisdom and perseverance in the face of grave hardship. What they did literally changed our lives in ways most people cannot comprehend. Were we to believe the elitists, America has forfeited its role in the world, but the steady stream of those who want to come here, legally or illegally belies their pessimism. With all our problems, however short of our ideals we fall, oppressed people still choose to come here.

Years before, another declaration was made that also impacted me in life-changing ways. By the sacrifice of Christ we were declared righteous by God in a great transaction known theologically as justification by faith. Some Christians often imagine something is lacking in their faith because they aren’t moved emotionally by the preaching or singing that seems to be affecting everyone around them. But neither do I feel any different or have a personal connection to any of the founding Fathers, but my life is surely different from someone living in France or Pakistan or China due to that declaration made on July 4, 1776. In the same way, my life is different not because I feel religiously woozy or ecstatic, but because through the work of Christ on the Cross, God declared me and all others who believe, to be in a right relationship with him. As I listen to the fireworks and see their displays in the sky, I am grateful for my earthly country and for my heavenly home, both of which were given me through the courageous actions of others.

With Jesus

July 3, 2018

“Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, so that they will see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the world's foundation.”  As the night deepened, the prayer deepened with it. This was no casual, “God bless mommy and daddy” kind of prayer. This was the agony of a soul about to die, pouring out its innermost desires. 

Jesus was in Gethsemane, an olive grove to the east of old Jerusalem, preparing for the culmination of his life’s work and mission, asking his Father that what is to come may not be in vain. It’s an unusual prayer, given the circumstances. In less than twelve hours, he will be flogged mercilessly, driven like an animal through the city streets with a heavy hewn log across his bloody shoulders, and fastened to it with nails driven through his hands and feet. Why would anyone pray for his followers to join him in such an excruciating ordeal? 

So they may see his glory. When we use that word, we usually imagine scenes of exquisite beauty, unimaginable wealth, or unassailable power. Glory can be an expression of such things, but at heart, it is simply the essence of a thing. For Jesus, it is his self-sacrifice, the pouring out of his blood, his taking our sins upon him and setting us free. It was brutal, bloody business, but the cross revealed the glory of Christ in his unlimited love for us. Prior to the cross, this glorious love was merely words and deeds which were wonderful enough, but unable to reveal the essence of who Jesus is. It took the cross for us to see his glory.

This morning on my way into town, I pondered this verse, and prayed that I might for even one day to be so completely “with” Jesus that I would see his glory. I really did want to experience it. But it didn’t take long for the busyness of the day to elbow its way into my consciousness, crowding out any real awareness of Jesus. I was doing good, even Christian things, but I wasn’t where he was, and so missed the glory. Tomorrow is another day, another opportunity to be with him. I’m thankful that his mercies are new every morning, and that maybe...just maybe...tomorrow I’ll stay in his presence long enough to get just a glimpse of his glory.

Orange Sky

July 2, 2018

The rolling cannonade rumbled through the air with a violence that I felt as much as heard. Punctuated by streaks of blazing light that split the deep grey of the clouds that scudded across the sky and pierced the thunder with explosions of sheer auditory majesty, the storm suddenly burst upon us in fury. It didn’t last long, and so it was necessary for me to transport our grandson to his baseball scrimmage. It took a bit of maneuvering to do so. 

His mother is in Syracuse, his father had to make his jiu-jitsu class, Linda had to count the offering at the church, so I got tapped for the transportational honors. It looked to be a bit dicey, since I had loaned my truck to our other son while his was getting a new alternator. Sidecar bike, it is! Not that Nathan minds. Riding in the sidecar is a badge of honor for the kids, unlike my wife who detests the thought. I was sure however, that with the clouds lowering ahead of us, that we would certainly get soaked.

We didn’t. And now, a couple hours later, the sky has a strange orange glow, and there is an eerie stillness in the air. The Scriptures state that, 

“The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork.

Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night shows knowledge.

There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have ordained;

What is man, that you are mindful of him? and the son of man, that you visit him?

O LORD our Lord, how excellent is your name in all the earth!” (from Psalms 19 & 8).

The rapidly changing clouds testify; I am listening, and am humbled by their majesty.

Country Life, City Life

July 1, 2018

“Good morning and welcome to Dunkirk First United Methodist Church! It’s the first of July, which means we are on the downhill slide to winter and Christmas.” With the temperature hovering in the 90s and the humidity somewhere in the stratosphere, Bob’s humor was quite welcome this morning as we began worship. After a day at the beach celebrating our family’s July birthdays, I am sitting on the patio drinking in the fragrance of the woods, the sounds of the creek, and the cool of the evening.

Recently I read an article predicting that in another twenty or so years, more than 70% of the world’s population will live in cities. If such statistical predictions are true, it’s obvious that urban life is the preferred choice of most people, even accounting for the fact that for many, such urbanization is a matter of survival more than a lifestyle choice. I feel sorry for them. Crowded together as people are in apartment complexes, people either bond together or they live in strange isolation. Even as a child growing up in the suburbs, I felt the sterility of neighborhoods where no one really knew their neighbors, and schools were more like warehouses than places where we were prepared for life. 

The past year, I’ve been working in a small city, and I’ve come to appreciate the cultural diversity even as I am aware of the very real problems of abuse, addiction, and the breakdown of the family. I was telling my daughter this afternoon that a part of me wishes I had been appointed to Dunkirk years ago; that didn’t happen, but I am there now, and am praying and working hard to learn so we can effectively reach our neighborhood for Jesus. I really do have the best of two very different worlds, and tonight I thank God for the beauty and peacefulness of my country retreat as I gear up for another week of opportunity in the city. Tomorrow, I will give thanks for those opportunities that come our way, and pray to see them clearly that I might take full advantage of all God offers for the glory of his Name.