The Cycle

September 7, 2019

Darkness descends earlier these days and lingers longer in the mornings. The warmth of this afternoon’s sun is giving way to a night cooler than we knew just a couple short weeks ago. Here and there, the lawn sports a mottled brown, courtesy of the few dry leaves that released their hold on the maples, cherry, and ash along our creek, harbingers of days to come, with  muscles aching from the pull of the rake. Hours spent sweating in the sun through summer’s labors will soon yield to stoking the stove and sitting through the evening in its warm glow. It’s part of a pattern that has existed for thousands of years, giving continuity and order to life itself.

The Biblical story of Noah concludes with the promise, 

“While the earth remains, 

Seedtime and harvest, 

Cold and what, 

Winter and summer, 

And day and night 

Shall not cease.” (Genesis 8:22)

Summer morphs into Autumn, Autumn to Winter, Winter to Spring, Spring back to Summer...a seemingly endless cycle of the seasons observed in various ways throughout the world. Some see in this cycle hints of an endless reincarnation of the soul, but the text is clear: “While the earth remains...” The Jewish and Christian Scriptures are adamant that time is linear, not cyclical—a view that stands in stark contrast to the polytheistic (and atheistic) religions. The Day is coming, these Scriptures assert, when this earth will pass and God will create a new heaven and earth (see Isaiah 65:17, 2 Peter 3:13, and Revelation 21:1).

As the days shorten, I will dig out the sweaters from their storage bins, check the coats in the closet, retrieve my winter fedoras from their boxes in the attic, make sure the woodbin is filled. My Ural needs to be prepped for winter storage so when the renegade warm day pops up in January, I’ll be ready to ride. I’ve already cleaned the chimney and vacuumed last year’s ashes from the stove. The cycle of the seasons rolls on, but not endlessly. There is a future, a goal towards which we move. It’s called the Kingdom of God, and one day, as Jesus taught his followers to pray, it will come “on earth, as it is in heaven.” For that future I await and give thanks tonight. 

Linda

September 6, 2019

At 49 years and counting, it just keeps getting easier. I don’t know how I would handle a high-maintenance wife. Linda is anything but. She’s just plain easy to live with. Like anyone who’s been married for any length of time, we’ve had our ups and downs; I’ve given her more reason to be angry than she’s given me. She’s patient with my quirks. The only thing she complains about is my boxes of books, but even her complaints are only half-hearted. 

A few weeks ago when we had friends from our Dunkirk congregation over for a picnic, I repeatedly heard comments to the effect of how warm and welcoming our home is. I told them that’s because Linda takes care of it instead of me. If I were in charge of the decor, our home would look like a boy’s college dorm. It would probably smell like one, too. She amazes me with her energy. From cooking to laundry, from cleaning to mowing the lawn and taking care of the gardens, I often feel like I’m a freeloader. 

She gets almost giddy thinking of Christmas and all the decorations that go along with it. Just today, she revealed that she is pondering the possibility of three Christmas trees in the house; the usual tree for the living room, the formal tree in the entry, and, “I’m trying to decide if I’ll put one in the bedroom.” I responded, telling her that if she’s thinking it, I might as well consider it a done deal. 

On top of it all, she takes care of herself. She exercises more faithfully than I do, and takes pains to take care of her appearance when at home as well as in public. We eat healthy, stay busy. As a wife, mother, and grandmother, she is without peer, and is as faithful a friend as one could have. I can’t imagine anyone who could possibly suit me more than Linda.

She isn’t perfect; after all, she chose me, for which I am very thankful tonight.

Hearing

September 5, 2019

It began innocuously enough one day as I was adjusting the equalizer on my guitar. It sounded dull to me, so I was turning up the treble when Linda covered her ears and declared it was ringing too much. I was in my early fifties and knew then that I needed hearing aids. I was used to the ringing in my ears from the time I was a little kid, but hadn’t realized how much I was missing as time progressed. Stick your fingers in your ears while having a conversation, and you’ll get an idea of what my world was like. It was increasingly difficult for me to do my job as a pastor. Counseling sessions, especially with a soft-spoken woman, was all but impossible, and the babbling conversations of my little grandchildren were lost in a mumble of unidentifiable sounds and syllables.

Some men seem to have a hard time with admitting the need for hearing aids, but I was eager. My first stab at wearing them didn’t go so well; analog devices simply amplified everything, creating more noise than understanding. I gave up after a trial run, but a few years later, digitals came on the market, and I didn’t hesitate. They were so expensive I couldn’t afford top of the line, but the ones I bought changed everything. I could hear birds sing! I hadn’t heard that in so long, I had forgotten they did so. 

I was up early this morning. Our men’s prayer group meets at 6:00 am, so I’ve been wearing my present devices since about 5:30. They are the newer rechargeable ones, and as I was driving home at 10:30 tonight after a long day at the hospital, their charge finally faded and died. The silence was deafening, and suddenly I was thankful for these marvels of technology that enable me to participate in life to a degree that would be impossible without them. 

Christians often sing and talk about wanting to “see Jesus.” We speak of visions and dreams, but the characteristic word in Scripture is auditory, not visual. We are repeatedly instructed to listen, hear, pay attention. Jesus himself is described as the Word of God. Visual imagery is not absent, but heeding the commands is by far the most prominent feature of the Gospel revelation which is preached, not seen. I believe the reason for this is the power of the spoken and written word to connect us, even more than sight. A blind person can still be part of conversations, but the deaf is cut off. I am grateful tonight to be able (with assistance) to hear, and for the Holy Spirit who has opened my ears to the Truth of the Gospel, that I might be saved.

Deceptive Feelings

September 4, 2019

Two years ago on this date, I wrote about our perceptions of reality. In the two years since I penned those words, our social and political climate has changed drastically, making those observations even more pertinent, in my opinion. We are now living in a world where a person’s inner feelings trump external, observable, and scientific reality. If people “feel” they are of the opposite sex than their DNA and their sexual organs indicate, those feelings are deemed more true and real than demonstrable evidence to the contrary, to the extent that others who refuse to acquiesce to those fantasies can be prosecuted. Yet it remains true that feelings are never a good measure of reality. At the same temperature, I feel warm and my wife feels cold. Which is it? It is whatever the thermometer says it is. When we allow subjectivity to rule, we enter a country with no landmarks, where the sands are continually shifting, and the wind and waves erode all that was once sound and stable. It is a dangerous place to be.

When I was in fourth grade, our class put on what essentially was a morality play. I was cast as a hayseed farmer who came on stage yelling at a couple kids who were doing something wrong. According to the script, their reply was to laugh and say, “Here comes that old windbag!” As a nine-year old, I wasn’t able to make the distinction between script and real life. Those words cut to the quick, and I believed that this was what my friends really thought of me. I failed to check my perception against reality. My belief in turn, produced feelings of worthlessness, inferiority, and friendlessness.

Our feelings are not accurate reflections of reality. They are the result of our interpretation of, and our beliefs about our past, present, and future. If as children, our parents or teachers or friends told us we were stupid, no good, or worthless and we believed it, we felt worthless and dumb. And unless our beliefs change, even as adults we will continue to feel those same feelings. If you haven’t achieved as an adult all you imagined you would when you were younger, you may believe you’re a failure. If you believe it, you’ll feel it. What we believe determines our feelings and actions. 

The Bible tells us that everything of value is rooted in faith. What we believe makes all the difference, which is why it is so important that what we believe is true. People believe all sorts of lies and falsehoods which end up distorting and twisting their lives into sad caricatures of all God intended for them. Jesus said, “I am…the Truth” (John 14:6). When we start with what Jesus tells us about ourselves, it’s hard to go wrong. After all, he knows us best. What I believed back in fourth grade was rooted in a false perception, and resulted in years of self-doubt. It wasn’t until I began to believe what Jesus tells me about myself that I began to shed the baggage I had carried for so long. I discovered a new reality in Jesus Christ that made all the difference. For that new reality and the faith to receive it, I am thankful tonight.

Language

September 3, 2019

Communication is tricky. We think language is meant to reveal our thoughts, motives, and feelings, when in fact, it is often the means of hiding our intents, of deception and malice. Even when our intent is pure, the verbal and grammatical limitations, the presuppositions and background of the sender and/or the receiver can twist an otherwise plain and innocuous statement into something unintended. Inflection, tone, body language—all affect communication. 

A couple days ago, I wrote about retiring a second time. In passing, I mentioned a class in fiddling being offered by the New Horizons band of which I am a part. I spoke also of free time, ministry, having good health, brushing up on my Spanish, and jokingly said that my days of being a hunky sex symbol were behind me. The responses to that article were instructive of the elusive nature of language. My daughter and a friend commented on the sex symbol statement, one spoke of good health, another of using my free time to trim trees or make scones, neither of which I mentioned in my post. One offered the opportunity to brush up on my Spanish in the context of ministry, and a good friend offered me his fiddle if I’d play it. 

All of this is evidence of the significance of what we bring to our conversations. This article engendered a multitude of responses corresponding to the interests of the various readers. None of them missed what I was saying, but each one resonated with a different aspect of what I wrote. 

This is why for years I’ve encouraged people to compliment others in writing, but to critique privately, face to face. We’ve all witnessed and perhaps participated in social media conversations that quickly became online shouting matches; people arguing and vilifying people they’ve never even met. That which was intended to bring people together has only widened the chasms in our society, turning minor fizzures into enormous fractures. This slippery nature of language is also why interpreting and preaching from the Scriptures can be so difficult. I’ve too often listened to preachers declare authoritatively that this or that is a clear and definite word from the Lord when it is quite apparent to me that they are only giving their opinion in the guise of unvarnished truth. I believe Truth is objective, verifiable, and univocal, but I also believe that our grasp of it is often pretty paltry. The atheist for example, who declares categorically that there is no God is either ignorant, deluded, or arrogant...perhaps all three. After all, in this great universe, what percentage of knowledge that exists do any of us actually possess? Anyone who denies the existence of God, in order to do so must have absolute and infinite knowledge, which is either rank ignorance, utter delusion, or incomprehensible arrogance.

This elusive, slippery, ephemeral thing called language isn’t perfect because we aren’t perfect, but the beauty of it is in the fact that a few short paragraphs can elicit such a varied response in people, touching what is close to their hearts. I wish I could say that about everything I’ve written, but even if only occasionally, it is reason for giving thanks.

Time

September 2, 2019

“Procrastination is strong in this one,” Darth Vader would say about me. It’s no secret that band is starting up again. The first rehearsals were while I was on vacation; it’s already week two, and I still haven’t pulled my bassoon out of the closet where it’s sat for two years. I intended to practice Saturday, but split and stacked wood instead before spending a delightful evening at our annual Labor Day corn roast with Linda’s sisters and their husbands. After dinner when everyone left yesterday would have been a capital time for practice, but I raked up the debris from the wood splitting adventure, read a little, and before I knew it, the day was gone.

Today I was just plain lazy this morning, rising late, treating Linda to her favorite—breakfast in bed, and reading again—just for the pleasure of it. Late morning, I made a sandblaster out of a pop bottle and an air gun, sandblasted the rust and peeling paint and painted the bucket arms of my tractor. Though a bit unwieldy, it turned out quite well in spite of the air nozzle continually plugging up. By the time that job was done it was time to drive over to our son’s home for our annual family and neighborhood Labor Day picnic. 

It will feel a bit odd not going in to work this week. The grandkids will be back in school, and our kids and their friends will go to work while my time is my own to do as I want. I do plan to visit a friend who is expecting surgery in Rochester later this week, but don’t have to squeeze in sermon preparation. Though the calendar tells me I’ll be quite busy, it doesn’t feel busy, which is quite nice. 

Time is an odd thing. We think we know what it is, but it can be quite elusive. The Greeks had at least two words for time; chronos is chronological time—seconds, minutes, hours, days and so forth—time as it ticks along, moment after moment. They also had the word kairos, which was what we mean when we say, “Now is the time,” or “At the right time.” It was the opportune moment, the right time, the time when something happened. Chronological time can be precise. It can also drag or speed up. For a child waiting for her birthday, time can take forever, but when school starts in September, it seems like the summer has come and gone in the blink of an eye. Waiting for the results of the cancer scan can seem like an eternity; hearing the doctor say, “You have only months to live,” reminds us that life is fleeting.

In the book of Daniel, the king Nebuchadnezzar ruled a vast empire, but was haunted by the prospect that his time might be coming to an end. When the advisors he called in to interpret the dream he had couldn’t do it, he accused them of stalling for time, of looking for the right time to attempt a coup. Time is no friend to the rich and powerful. “My times are in thy hands,” so says Psalm 31:15. “Remember how short my time is,” the psalmist begs of God in 89:47. Retirement gives me time to reflect on time. It is good to do so. I think one of the devil’s sneakiest deceptions is tricking us into thinking we have all the time in the world for the things that are most important. He’s right about part of it—we have all the time in the world. We just don’t know how much longer we’ll be in this world. Now is not the time to fritter it away. There is less of it ahead of me than behind me, and I want to make the most of it. I’m thankful tonight for the time to think about time.

Retirement #2

September 1, 2019

Every once in awhile something happens that is so out of the ordinary that one must simply stop and savor the moment. Today was such a day. I actually got to sit by my wife through the entire worship service this morning! I was very good; I didn’t wiggle, squirm, or even talk during the sermon—something that hasn’t happened in a long time! 

Today is the first Sunday of my second attempt at retirement. It feels a bit odd, but I think I’ll like it. People have asked me what I will do now to fill the time, to which I respond, “I have no idea.” There are lots of things I need to get done and a few things I’d like to try, like the fiddling class being offered by our New Horizons band. I’ve fiddled around with things for years; maybe taking a class in it will show me how to really do it, although if a college student is teaching it, I would bet I have a lot more experience than he (or she). I can fiddle around even though I don’t have a fiddle!

The problem with retiring from ministry is that the need for ministry never wanes, and if you’ve been doing it long enough, it never gets out of your blood. Any day of the week I can think of a dozen people who could use a visit and a prayer. I think of all the sermons I haven’t preached, the classes and lessons I haven’t taught, the learning and growing that still stretches out before me. Hopefully, retirement will free up a bit of time to dig into books that have set on my shelf for years, or to seriously practice my bass or bassoon or my Spanish, or to engage in the mission work in Cuba. All are possibilities, and God has blessed me so far with health enough to pursue any or all of these. I do suspect however, that my days as a hunky sex symbol may be behind me.