77

December 7, 2018

We sat side by side on the couch in our living room watching an old black and white movie, “The Fighting Sullivans,” a true story of five brothers who perished when their ship the Juneau was sunk during the WWII Battle of Guadalcanal. My father was a young man serving in the Army Air Corps when this actually happened. Now in his seventies, he and I watched in silence. 

Suddenly I heard a snorting beside me and glanced over to see my father vainly trying to stifle the emotions welling up inside him. Tears were streaming down his face as he remembered childhood friends who had enlisted with him but who didn’t survive the war. 

A few years later, I was sitting in the back of an antique fire truck with the owner of our local Agway store. We were in the parade making our way to the cemetery for the annual Veteran’s Day service. He was a bomber squad member who was shot down over Europe and spent time as a POW in Nazi Germany. “Bob,” I said, “Our Vietnam vets talk a lot about PTSD; I’ve never heard much from you WWII guys.”

“It never leaves you,” Bob began. “There are still nights when my wife wakes me up because I’ve been thrashing around in my sleep. I’ll be in a cold sweat.” 

Both these incidents took place more than fifty years after the end of World War II. Those of us who have never been in harm’s way cannot fathom what the utter violence of war does to the human soul. In a conversation with a close friend who is a Vietnam vet, I mentioned having some guilt and regret that I never served in the military. “Don’t ever wish this on yourself,” he advised me. “Be thankful you never had to see what I’ve seen.” I am, and am also thankful for those who have seen, and have served. Many made the ultimate sacrifice, but in some ways I wonder if they were the lucky ones. Those who survived have often borne lifelong scars that they carry to their graves. On this 77th anniversary of the attack upon Pearl Harbor, I am grateful for those who answered their country’s call so the rest of us could enjoy the life we’ve been given at such great cost.

Front Wheel Drive

December 6, 2018

It was quite a bit different back then. Our first front-wheel drive car was a Buick Century, a rather forgettable vehicle except for the first time I took it out in the winter and promptly did a 380 turning onto Sylvester St., narrowly avoiding putting it in the ditch. That was in the 80s; every vehicle I drove prior to that was rear wheel drive only. 

It’s a wonder we made it through some of the winters. Hills were always a challenge, especially if you had to stop at a light and try to get started again. The trick was often a matter of spinning the tires till you melted through the snow pack to the blacktop beneath. Of course, that only was good for a couple feet, after which the preferred means of propulsion was fish-tailing it up the hill, hoping you wouldn’t sideswipe the car next to you. 

When Linda and I were first married, we lived in a little hamlet called Alma, nestled in the confluence of two valleys. The hills around Alma were steep; summer was fine, but careful planning was required if in the winter it was necessary to get to the top of one of them. I’ll never forget one time, riding shotgun with my friend Al who decided we needed to climb the hill behind his house instead of taking the more sensible long way around. A running start in his big, heavy Pontiac got us about halfway up the hill when around a bend appeared a slow moving Chevy creeping along. I don’t know how they were making any progress at all, but we knew if we slowed down we’d have to back all the way down the hill and try again. 

When it came to driving, Al was not one to back down. Come to think of it, when it came to anything, Al was not one to back down. He cranked the wheel, hit the gas, and as we passed that car, I could see the old man driving, eyes like saucers. It was easy to see his eyes because I was looking straight out the windshield at him. We were actually going sideways up that hill kicking up a rooster tail of snow, Al laughing maniacally the entire rest of the way.

Those days are pretty well gone. Everything is front or four wheel drive, which takes a lot of the excitement out of winter sports driving. People still find themselves in ditches, usually because they haven’t adjusted to winter conditions. The old man who used to live in our home was for years our village mechanic. He used to say, “The only difference between regular and four wheel drive is when you get stuck, you’re REALLY stuck. And with four wheel drive, you’ll try to go places where you get really stuck.” Well, maybe so, but I’ve only been really stuck once, when I was just getting ready to switch to four wheel drive, but waited just a fraction of a second too long and found myself sailing out into a field, finally stopping about fifty yards from the road.

Tonight we had to navigate some pretty nasty winter weather. I’ve driven worse, but this was bad enough, and I was and am thankful for front wheel drive. It made our trip uneventful, which is how I like them these days.

Peterson

December 5, 2018

“So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.”

“I’m speaking to you out of deep gratitude for all that God has given me, and especially as I have responsibilities in relation to you. Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace, it’s important that you not misinterpret yourselves as people who are bringing this goodness to God. No, God brings it all to you. The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what he does for us, not by what we are and what we do for him.” —Romans 12:1-3 MSG

This past October, the Church lost one of its often unsung heroes. Eugene Peterson passed away at 85, having pastored for 29 years the same Presbyterian congregation he founded in 1969, retiring in 1991. He is best known for his translation of the Bible known as “The Message,” but also wrote a number of solid and worthy books on the practice of pastoral ministry. 

In one of them, he wrote that too many pastors don’t really believe their own theology. We say we believe in Original Sin, but when Christians act like the sinners they are, we get angry. “It’s impossible to minister out of anger,” he mused. “If we actually believed our theology,” he surmised, “we wouldn’t be surprised when Christians behave like sinners, and would be pleasantly surprised when they actually acted like Christians.” 

Those words breathed life into my soul at a time when we were dealing with a lot of angry people, many of whom were acting in decidedly unchristian ways. His wisdom helped me navigate some very turbulent waters back then, and although I usually prefer more time-proven and literally translated versions, his Message cuts through some of the religious jargon we tend to throw around willy-nilly. Romans 12:1 he translates as, “Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering.” It’s hard to get much plainer or poignant than this. 

Verse 3 reads, “The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what he does for us, not by what we are and what we do for him.” We have tried psychology, we’ve defined ourselves politically, sexually, racially, none of which has been particularly effective at helping us live meaningful and grace-filled lives. We are more at odds with one another than ever before, more out of touch with our own inner selves, and as a result, more depressed, more addictive, more isolated than ever before. I’ve told people for years, “Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. That’s God’s job alone.” If we truly understood who we are in light of the love of God and the gift of Jesus Christ, many of our problems would resolve themselves. 

Tonight I am thankful for God’s gift to the Church of Eugene Peterson; his wisdom and scholarship, and his heart for pastors and the Church they serve. Never having met me, he blessed me greatly, and hopefully through me, many others as well.

Slow Down

December 4, 2018

Friends Bob and Bri recently relocated back to Sinclairville after a work-related four-year stint in Texas. Linda and Bri went Christmas shopping together today, and already being in town, I joined them for lunch. Part of our conversation centered around the population growth in the Lubbock, TX area. In the four years they were there, three or four new schools had to be built. In the school at which Bri taught, she estimated 800 kids in just a single grade, and one particular street that had just a few scattered businesses when they arrived, four years later was lined with them.

It’s hard for people who live in Western New York to imagine the growth and prosperity other parts of the country are experiencing. Chautauqua County has lost population annually for the past thirty-plus years. Our youth move away for a single reason: jobs. Our governor claims it’s our weather, but the weather hasn’t changed appreciably from the time when people flooded into our area around the turn of the last century. It’s taxes, pure and simple. Any businessman or woman will testify to that fact. And the fact that NYC makes the rules for the rest of the state. With a Democratic governor, Assembly, and Senate, rule by bureaucracy is only going to increase. 

Then there’s those of us who stay. There are many reasons; for us, it’s primarily family. And the fact that I prefer the slower pace. We certainly don’t have to put up with traffic jams here, unless you consider creeping along behind an Amish buggy a nuisance. In more seasonable weather, I like riding the back roads on my sidecar motorcycle at a leisurely 45 mph, and when the wind is whipping snow across the road in whiteout conditions, we just stop and wait it out. While I do wish there were more opportunities around here for our young adults, generally speaking, I like where we live. The air is clean, we don’t have earthquakes or mudslides; hurricanes don’t blow us away, and the flooding we occasionally experience is usually relatively small and localized. Tornados don’t cut devastating swaths through the area, and wildfires are unknown. What’s there not to like, except the continually overcast skies and the occasional roof collapse that are usually avoidable through judicious snow removal.

I am thankful that the roads were clear, the traffic light, and our home is warm. We are blessed.

Awards

December 3, 2018

It’s 10:00 pm and I just got home from our granddaughter’s annual swim team banquet. She came home with four new letters for her school jacket, second and first place ribbons, her name on the scoreboard, and assorted other prizes. The coaches do their best to make sure every girl is encouraged and recognized without resorting to participation awards, making it a memorable evening for each one. I remember when our children were swimming; how important the awards were at the time for building self-esteem and confidence. I also know that those awards are packed away in boxes in attics and basements, if they’ve even been saved. Our kids grew up and moved on.

Often, that never happens. The world is filled with adults who are still striving for their place, slaving away at a career, chasing an elusive dream, doing everything in their power to win a bauble, an award, money, fame, or power—something that will validate their existence, something that shouts out, “Hey! Look at me! I’m worth something!” Politicians keep passing laws to make life better even as the problems they supposedly solve produce more problems requiring more laws. “Hey! Look at me! I’m accomplishing something significant! Maybe I’ll be remembered.”

The prizes for which we strive tarnish with age, fade into insignificance even as we chase down a new goal, a new mountain to climb.

St. Paul told of the athletes of his day who pursued a crown that faded; a wreath of approval, and said, “everyone who competes for the prize...do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an imperishable crown.” (I Corinthians 9:25 NKJV). 

Last night, the youth and adults of our School of the Arts presented a program of Christmas music for the residents of a local senior residence. The people loved it, and were grateful that they were remembered and honored as the kids visited with them afterwards.

I can’t help but see the contrast between the two evenings. As much as I love watching the kids compete, except for those few who in the future may long for their glory days, their rewards for all their effort are perishable, and will soon be forgotten. If that happens, the reward has proven even more fragile than ever, not having accomplished its purpose of helping propel them into greater achievement. But the reward of giving oneself for the sake of others is imperishable, and while I am thankful to have witnessed tonight the giving of awards, I am even more thankful for the eternal rewards earned last night. They will remain, bright and shining even as the years go by.

Control

December 2, 2018

It’s easy to trust God when you have control of the reins, not so easy when someone else is calling the shots; even less so when you don’t even know what shots are being called. Take retirement, for example. When I was pastoring full time, I was in the know on most of what was happening, and was able to put my stamp on much of it. The church program and emphases were largely a product of the vision I had for it. I say this not to brag, but simply to state a fact. Whether the direction and emphasis were correct could be open for discussion, but I definitely had my hand on the wheel and had a pretty clear picture of where I thought we should go and what we should be as a congregation.

In retirement, I’ve had to let go of that, and it at times can be an odd feeling. The closest analogy I can find is that of driving the car. Most of the time when we travel somewhere, I do the driving. I have my hand on the wheel and it’s my foot on the gas. I have a feel for the road and how the car is responding to the various road conditions. Occasionally, Linda drives and I often find myself glancing at the speedometer or applying the brakes that aren’t there. She is a good driver, but I’m not in control and it doesn’t feel right.

I’ve been pulpit supply in Dunkirk for over a year now. Pastoring a city church is different than what I’ve been used to, and to be honest, I haven’t a clue as to how to do it successfully. We’re a small congregation, and need to grow to remain viable. I’ve tried everything I can think of to grow the church, but we stay the same. We aren’t shrinking, but we also aren’t growing, and I am faced with the realization that I’m not in control.

Pastors talk a lot about walking by faith, but I suspect few of us really have to do much of it. It doesn’t take a lot of faith to call the shots, make the decisions, set the direction of the organization. It takes a lot more faith to follow someone else’s leadership when you’ve not been part of the decision-making process. It takes a lot of faith to keep on preaching when you don’t know what you’re doing. 

So tonight, I’m thankful that when I don’t know what I’m doing, and when I yielded the leadership of the church to another, that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is ultimately about trusting that he is in control. It’s his Church, his future into which we are moving, and his glory we seek. When I can’t figure things out, I can trust him. I think it was Rick Warren who said, “When I can’t trace his hand, I can trust his heart.” So true. So thankful.

Bailey Advent

December 1, 2018

This year, the Bailey family Christmas gathering falls on the first day of Advent. It’s a tradition we’ve been keeping for years—Linda and I, our three kids with their spouses and children, meet my brother and sister-in-law with three of their sons, wives, and children meeting at Walmart, pooling our money and providing a Christmas for a couple needy families we know. One of our cousins joins us for a rollicking good time. Usually my sister and her kids and grandkids come, too, but this year they were home for Thanksgiving, and living in Iowa and Tennessee, they weren’t able to join us this year.

Time was, when mom and dad would come, and mom’s sister, too. Dad and Aunt Marion are both gone, and mom is too frail to do the shopping, so she waits at home for the crew to arrive, arms laden with gifts to be wrapped, preceded by a shockwave of chatter and shrieks of happiness. It’s lunchtime, and soon the snacks adorn mom’s table while on the stove a variety of soups are simmering. 

Lunch is followed by wrapping all the gifts, conversation and stories with lots of laughter, while the littlest grandkids are running through the house, cavorting through the chaos. 

Advent is the beginning of the Christian year, a time when we look back to God’s preparation for Christ’s first coming in anticipation of his Second Coming. The first was in humility, the second in glory. The first in poverty, the second in power. St. Paul says that it was in the fullness of time that Christ came; ie. when the time was right. At the right time, Christ will come again. St. John says the world wasn’t ready for that first Advent—“he came to his own, but his own did not receive him.” (John 1:11). St. Paul says it will be much the same at his Second coming (1 Thessalonians 5:2-3), but writes so we can be prepared for it. 

This Advent begins for me with joyful celebration, but with empty seats at the table; my father, grandparents long gone, my aunt, and many others who once gathered together in love, faith, and service. I look back with fond memories to all those times we gathered together, but also look forward with anticipation to that Day when we once more will sit around the table—God’s table...and there will be no empty places.